THE  PASS 


misstep  would  have  tragic   consequences." 

See  page  188 


THE  PASS 


BY 
STEWART   EDWARD  WHITE 

Author  of  "The  Blazed  Trail,"  "The  Forest," 
"The  Mountains,"  etc.,  etc. 


FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLOR  BY  FERN  AND  LUNGREN 

AND  MANY  OTHER  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


GARDEN  CITY         NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 

THE  OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  Eng. 


All  rights  reserved 


CHA.PTEB  PAGE 

I     THE  BIG  MEADOW  TRAIL  t.,  ^       1 

II     THE  FOREST  RANGER     .  w  ^     13 

III  ROARING  RIVER        .        .  .,  t.,     33 

IV  DEADMAN'S  CANON  .         .  .  .45 
V     CLOUDY  CANON  i..     63 

VI     BLOODY  PASS    .        .        .  ,.,     73 

VII     WE  FALL  BACK        .        .  .  .     91 

VIII     THE  PERMANENT  CAMP  .  .  .   107 

IX     THE  SIDE  HILL  CAMP     .  .  .147 

X     THE  LEDGE 173 

APPENDIX          .....    195 

FIELD  NOTES  ,    197 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  misstep  would  have  tragic  consequences 

Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

The  mountain  meadows  are  like  small  lakes 

with  grass  in  lieu  of  water        .        .      10 

A  short  forage — a  sharp  report  and  dinner     28 
Deadman's  Canon         .        .        .  48 

Wes  clears  the  trail      .        .        .        .        .60 

We  had  just  time  to  dig  our  heels  in  and 

brace  for  the  shock  when  over  she  went     76 

Bullet  took  his  time,  smelled  out  each  step 

and  passed  without  an  accident        .     84 

The  way  was  very  rough      .        .        .        .100 
Among  big  rugged  cliff  debris  .         .        ,.   114 

The  six-shooter  terminated  the  argument 

with  the  rattlesnake     .        .       ,.       ..132 
vii 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


A  treacherous  snowfield      .        .        .        .150 

Looking  down  Elizabeth  Pass — a  jumble  of 

mountain  peaks 162 

The  lake  that  Wes  discovered       .        .        .    180 

The  thin  black  line  across  the  face  of  the 

cliff  is  the  ledge  by  which  we  descended  192 

Map     .        .        .       ,.       ;.        .        .        .   199 


viii 


THE   BIG   MEADOW   TRAIL 


THE    BIG    MEADOW    TRAIL 

WE  had  already  been  out  about  two 
months,  Billy  and  Wes  and  I,  and  were 
getting  short  of  grub.  Wes  took  Din- 
key and  Jenny  on  a  wide  detour  down 
to  the  six-thousand  foot  mark,  where  a 
little  mill  town  afforded  a  chance  of  re- 
plenishing supplies.  Billy  and  I,  in 
charge  of  Buckshot  and  Old  Slob  and 
Calamity  Jane,  the  diminutive  mule,  con- 
tinued on  the  trail,  under  agreement  to 
wait  for  Wes  at  Big  Meadows. 

Billy  rode  ahead  on  her  brown  pony, 
watching  the  landscape  go  by,  peacefully 
leading  the  way.  The  three  pack-horses 
followed  more  or  less  conscientiously. 
Bullet  and  I  brought  up  the  rear,  I  snap- 
3 


THE   PASS 

ping  my  slingshot  and  Bullet  his  teeth  to 
keep  Calamity  Jane  in  the  way  she  should 
go.  Tuxana,  the  bull  dog,  and  Pepper, 
the  Airedale,  were  in  and  out  of  the  brush 
discovering  the  most  rapturous  smells. 
That  is  the  way  one  travels  in  the  moun- 
tains. 

We  were  about  seventy-five  hundred 
feet  up  and  in  the  country  typical  of  that 
elevation.  Much  of  the  trail  was  in  the 
pine  woods,  but  occasionally  we  skirted 
broad,  open  mountain  sides.  There  grew 
manzanita  and  snow-bush,  with  bald  rocks 
outcropping.  When  we  came  to  such  a 
hill  we  shook  off  the  delicious  state  where- 
in a  certain  part  of  us — the  part  that  had 
to  do  with  horses  and  trail  and  lay  of  the 
country  and  pack-ropes — was  wide  awake 
and  efficient,  but  in  which  all  the  rest  of 
us  was  luxuriantly  and  indolently  allow- 
ing the  foreordained  to  take  place;  and 
s — v  / 

began  to  look  for  deer.    We  did  not  want 


THE    BIG   MEADOW   TRAIL 

to  shoot  them,  but  it  was  fun  to  see  them. 
Then  regretfully  Tuxana  and  Pepper 
obeyed  our  orders  and  came  to  heel.  But 
in  a  few  moments  again  we  entered  the 
pines  and  the  cedars  and  the  huge  Doug- 
las spruces,  where  the  mountain  brooks 
leaped  from  one  pool  to  another,  and  cer- 
tain wild  flowers  lightened  the  shadows. 

After  a  time  we  descended  a  deep 
canon  to  a  stream  of  considerable  size. 
Obstructing  it  were  boulders  rounded  by 
floods,  white  as  the  snow  from  which  the 
waters  about  them  came.  At  the  ford  it 
glittered  with  fool's  gold,  barbaric  and 
splendid.  The  horses  splashed  through 
indifferently,  but  the  dogs  lamented  on 
the  further  side  of  resolution.  Finally 
they  decided.  Tuxana,  characteristically, 
leaped  from  one  stone  to  another,  bal- 

A^* 

anced  with  care,  lost  and  caught  her  equi- 
librium a  half  dozen  times.  About  the 
middle  her  hind  feet  slipped.  At  once 
5 


THE   PASS 

the  current  caught  them.  She  clung  des- 
perately, her  countenance  agonized,  but 
the  stream  was  too  strong  for  her.  At 
last  she  had  to  let  go  and  swim,  where- 
upon the  rapids  caught  her,  battered  her 
about  and  spewed  her  forth  far  below. 
Pepper,  on  the  other  hand,  plunged  in 
boldly,  swam  with  all  her  strength,  and 
managed  to  crawl  out  just  above  the  be- 
ginning of  the  white  water.  Then  they 
both  shook  themselves,  beginning  at  the 
head  and  ending  in  a  disgusted  quiver  at 
the  tip  of  the  tail. 

After  this  we  climbed  steadily  out  of 
the  canon,  following  in  a  general  way  the 
course  of  a  stream  tributary  to  it.  At 
first  the  trail  led  over  the  shoulder  far 
above,  but  gradually  the  brook  rose  to  our 
level,  and  so  we  found  ourselves  once 
more  among  the  trees.  The  sun  splashed 
through  luxuriantly,  Douglas  squirrels 
ran  up  and  down  in  an  affectation  of 
6 


THE   BIG   MEADOW   TRAIL 

haste,  Calamity  Jane  loafed  along,  her 
ears  swinging  to  each  step  as  though  on 
ball  bearings.  Occasionally,  far  ahead, 
and  still  considerably  above  us,  we  made 
out,  through  the  forest,  the  sky-line  of  the 
ridge. 

By  and  by  Calamity  Jane  stopped. 
Mechanically  I  felt  for  my  slingshot. 
Then  I  saw  that  Old  Slob  had  also 
stopped,  and  also  Buckshot,  and  also 
Coco,  from  the  elevation  of  whose  back 
Billy  was  addressing  some  one.  By 
standing  in  my  stirrups  I  could  just 
make  out  a  small  boy  on  a  sand  bar  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream.  He  was  a  very 
small  boy  indeed,  and  he  wore  an  old  pair 
of  his  big  brother's  overalls,  cut  off  below 
and  pulled  up  above  until  all  I  saw  was 
blue  denim  and  a  straw  hat,  with  just  a 
hint  of  yellow  curls  and  a  single  brown 
bare  foot.  The  other  brown  bare  foot 
was  dug  bashfully  into  the  sand.  An 
7 


THE   PASS 

enormous  fishing  rod  completed  the 
outfit. 

Billy  was  attempting  conversation. 

"Hello!"  said  she. 

"How  do,  ma'am,"  very  low,  almost  in- 
audible. 

"Caught  any  fish?" 

"No,  ma'am" — the  other  foot  began  to 
dig  out  of  sight. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Johnny,  ma'am." 

"Johnny  what?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"How  far  is  it  to  Big  Meadow?"  I 
asked. 

He  looked  up.  The  effect  was  very 
good,  for  he  proved  to  be  an  honestly 
homely  infant  with  a  wide  engaging 
mouth  and  gray  eyes. 

"Jest  over  the  ridge,  ma'am — sir." 

"Well,  good  luck,"  we  wished  him,  and 

rode  on. 

8 


THE   BIG   MEADOW   TRAIL 

"Woof,  woof!"  remarked  Pepper. 
That  did  not  mean  that  she  was  angry 
at  the  small  boy  or  meant  him  bodily 
harm.  It  was  only  her  way  of  announc- 
ing that  she  was  an  Airedale  and  exclusive. 
Then  she  leaped  in  the  air  twice,  turning 
completely  around  each  time,  bit  her  tail 
with  an  appearance  of  fulfilling  an  im- 
portant obligation,  and  trotted  after  us 
with  the  virtuous  air  of  having  done  her 
full  duty. 

We  topped  the  ridge  and  so  came  to 
Big  Meadow. 

Big  Meadow  lies  in  a  shallow  cup.  It 
is  exactly  like  a  lake,  only  the  waters  are 
the  green  grass,  arms  of  which  reach 
among  and  around  wooded  knolls  like 
bays  and  estuaries.  A  forest  surrounds  it, 
and  hills  surround  the  forest,  and  moun- 
tain peaks  the  hills.  You  have  to  travel 
some  miles  to  appreciate  the  latter  fact, 
however.  During  those  miles  you  ride  in 
9 


THE   PASS 

the  woods,  with  occasional  openings  for 
brooks  and  thickets  and  other  wilderness 
necessities  of  the  kind,  until  all  at  once  you 
look  out  over  California,  lying  seven  thou- 
sand feet  below.  Or  if  you  happen  to  go 
in  the  other  direction  you  merely  bob  up 
and  down  little  ridges  until  the  trail 
emerges  from  cover,  at  which  point  it 
stands  on  edge  and  you  climb  up  to  snow 
banks.  But  at  Big  Meadow  itself  there 
is  little  to  convince  you  of  elevation  unless, 
happening  to  botanize  or  to  carry  a  heavy 
pail  of  water,  you  shall  find  your  wind 
short. 

Prevented  from  crossing  the  meadow 
by  a  wire  fence,  we  rode  on  for  some  dis- 
tance through  the  woods.  Then  we  came 
upon  a  number  of  young  men  building 
apparently  a  stockade. 

They  were  tall,  straight,  sturdy  young 
men,  with  tanned,  solemn  faces  and  pre- 
ternaturally  grave  eyes.  They  had  dug 
10 


THE   BIG   MEADOW   TRAIL 

a  circular  trench  some  three  feet  deep,  and 
were  now  engaged  in  placing  therein 
as  many  large  logs  as  would  stand 
upright  side  by  side.  They  had  a  horse 
and  an  axe  and  a  cross-cut  saw;  that  was 
about  all.  The  rest  they  did  with  their 
hands  and  most  excellent  muscles.  It 
seemed  rather  a  titanic  undertaking  this; 
and  in  view  of  their  statement  that  the 
structure  was  to  be  a  corral,  perhaps  ex- 
cessive. A  kangaroo  would  have  diffi- 
culty in  negotiating  a  much  lower  bar- 
rier, and  a  locomotive  could  hardly  have 
plunged  through.  However,  they  were 
certainly  having  fun  doing  it;  and  per- 
formed the  necessary  feats  of  strength 
with  a  happy  superabundance  of  energy 
that  possibly  was  in  itself  an  explanation 
of  the  stockade.  No  mere  corral  could 
adequately  have  exercised  these  lusty  ^ 
young  mountaineers. 

They  directed  us  a  few  hundred  feet 
11 


THE   PASS 

farther  to  the  main  camp,  where  we  found 
the  Ranger  and  his  wife,  a  cordial  wel- 
come, a  little  tent  for  our  fatigue,  a 
hearty  supper  for  our  hunger,  and  a  cabin 
with  a  big  roaring  fireplace  across  all  one 
end  for  the  evening. 


18 


THE   FOREST   RANGER 


II 


THE    FOREST    RANGER 

BIG  MEADOW  flourished  under  a  benign 
and  patriarchal  government.  The  For- 
est Ranger  was  the  head  of  it.  His  many 
big  sons  hearkened  to  his  counsels  and 
obeyed  his  commands  implicitly  and 
cheerfully;  the  women  looked  to  him  as 
the  women  in  the  tents  of  Shem  looked 
to  their  masters;  and  the  very  beasts 
seemed  to  repose  trust  in  him  as  the  be- 
neficent arbiter  of  their  destinies.  So 
much  giving,  so  much  ordering  of  affairs 
had  bred  in  him  a  certain  deliberate  large- 
ness of  spirit.  He  never  had  to  assert 
his  authority,  because  by  habit  it  had 
long  since  become  assured.  His  contro 
seemed  almost  Indian  in  its  scope;  and 
15 


THE   PASS 

yet  it  was  in  no  sense  an  oppressive  con- 
trol. The  kindly  breadth  of  his  spirit 
seemed  to  find  its  exact  counterpart  in 
his  appearance,  for  he  was  deep-chested, 
thick-shouldered,  sturdy  of  limb;  and  his 
massive,  handsome  face,  with  twinkling 
eyes,  was  well  set  off  by  his  close-cropped 
grizzled  hair. 

We  talked  together  a  good  deal  in  the 
course  of  the  next  few  days.  He  turned 
out  to  be  an  enthusiast  on  the  subject  of 
his  calling.  The  salary  of  a  forest  ranger 
is  small,  but  he  habitually  spent  part  of 
it  for  supplies  and  tools  denied  him  by 
the  Government.  He  failed  to  under- 
stand the  niggardly  policy,  but  proved  no 
bitterness. 

"They  told  me  to  send  in  a  list  of  fire- 
fighting  tools  in  my  district,"  he  said,  with 
a  jolly  chuckle.  "My  district  then  was 
from  Kings  River  to  the  Kaweah.  At 
that  time  all  the  fire-fighting  tools  within 
16 


THE   FOREST   RANGER 

sixty  miles  was  four  rakes  that  I  made 
myself  out  of  fifty  cents'  worth  of  nails." 

He  was  hopeful,  however,  and  saw  a 
future. 

"I  like  the  mountains,"  he  told  me, 
"and  I  like  my  district,  and  I  have  the 
best  trail  crew  in  the  reserves.  Some  day 
the  Government  will  wake  up,  and  then 
all  the  boys  who  are  doing  good  work  and 
keeping  at  it  will  get  their  chance.  Why, 
my  oldest  boy  was  making  good  wages 
in  the  mill,  but  I  told  him  he'd  better  quit 
and  come  in  with  me.  The  wages  might 
not  be  so  good;  but  a  mill  man  is  only  a 
mill  man,  and  a  forest  ranger  is,  or  will  be, 
in  the  line  of  promotion.  And  then,  too, 
he's  out  of  doors — and  responsible." 

He  had  followed  his  own  advice;  for 
he  was  a  man  of  some   property  and 
known  ability,  and  had  gone  out  of  busi 
ness  and  politics  to  take  this  subordinate 
position. 

17 


THE   PASS 

"I'm  a  dyed-in-the-wool  Democrat," 
said  he,  with  another  of  his  delightful 
chuckles,  "and  it's  mighty  handy,  for 
when  my  friends  tackle  me  for  especial 
favors  I  just  tell  them  I  have  a  hard 
enough  time  holding  my  own  job." 

Naturally  a  man  of  his  fiber  made  ene- 
mies. He  was,  perhaps,  a  little  too  arbi- 
trary sometimes;  and  it  was  hard,  very 
hard,  for  him  to  acknowledge  himself  in 
the  wrong.  A  powerful  influence  for  his 
removal  was  last  summer  brought  to  bear 
by  certain  people  whom  his  rigid  enforce- 
ment of  game  and  forest  regulations  had 
offended,  and  by  some  others  in  whose 
case,  it  must  be  confessed,  he  had  made 
mistakes.  Luckily,  an  inspector  who 
knew  a  man  held  up  his  hands  for  him, 

otherwise  the  service  would  have  lost  a 

'~~*~^/        ^^ 

valuable  servant.    Men  who  work  for  the 
<-^  jf 

love  of  it  are  too  scarce  to  lose. 

The  Ranger  had,  moreover,  a  most  in- 
18 


THE   FOREST   RANGER 

teresting  and  sound  outlook  on  life.  He 
had  lived  much  among  men  in  his  com- 
mercial and  political  career,  and  he  had 
from  his  earliest  youth  lived  much  also 
in  the  vast  solitudes  of  the  mountains. 
The  material  he  gathered  in  the  lowland 
he  digested  and  ruminated  in  the  high- 
lands. The  result  was  a  common-sense 
philosophy  which  he  expressed  with  much 
sententiousness. 

In  a  grove  near  the  camp  was  an  out- 
of-door  smithy  and  wood-working  shop. 
There  every  conceivable  job  of  repair  and 
manufacture  was  undertaken.  While  I 
was  watching  the  Ranger  blueing  a  rifle 
sight,  one  of  the  younger  boys  brought 
up  a  horse  and  began  rather  bunglingly 
to  shoe  the  animal.  I  watched  the  opera- 
tion for  awhile  in  silence. 

"The  boy  is  a  little  inexperienced,"  I 
ventured  to  suggest  after  a  time.    "Aren't 
you  afraid  he'll  lame  the  horse?' 
19 


THE    PASS 

The  Ranger  glanced  up. 

"Every  one  of  the  boys  has  to  do  his 
own  shoeing  and  repairing  of  all  kinds," 
said  he.  "He's  been  shown  how,  and  he'll 
just  have  to  learn.  I  made  up  my  mind 
some  time  ago  that  I  would  rather  have 
a  hcrse  weak  in  his  hoof  than  a  boy  weak 
in  his  intellect." 

From  that  we  came  to  talking  of  boys, 
and  education,  and  chances  in  life. 

"I  have  eight  boys  of  all  ages,"  said  he, 
"and  I  have  given  a  lot  of  thought  to 
them.  They  are  getting  the  best  educa- 
tion I  can  buy  for  them — a  man  does  not 
get  far  without  it.  And  then,  besides,  I 
am  teaching  them  to  be  thorough,  and  to 
do  things  with  their  hands  as  well  as  with 
their  heads.  I  want  them  to  be  like  the 
old  fellow  who  built  his  stone  wall  four 
\~  foot  high  and  five  foot  wide.  Somebody 
-.  1  asked  him  what  he  did  it  for.  'Well,'  said 
he,  'there's  a  heap  of  wind  in  this  country, 


THE    FOREST   RANGER 

and  I  wanted  her  so  that  if  she  should 
blow  over  she'd  be  a  foot  higher  after  the 
trouble  than  she  was  before.' ' 

He  laughed  with  genuine  enjoyment 
of  his  own  story,  and  plunged  the  sight 
into  the  forge  fire. 

"Turn  'em  loose,  that's  the  way  to  do  it. 
Teach  them  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
and  then  they  will.  Why,  the  youngster 
is  all  over  the  hills,  and  he  is  only  six 
year  old." 

I  said  that  the  day  before  we  had  seen 
him  over  the  divide. 

"Yes,  and  some  day  when  he  gets  left 
over  a  divide  somewhere  by  accident,  he'll 
get  back  all  right ;  and  when  he  grows  up 
he  will  be  more  fond  of  divides  than  of 
pool  rooms  and  saloons.  My  wife  used 
to  worry  over  my  letting  the  boys  go 
hunting  when  they  were  so  young.  One 
day  especial  she  came  to  me  in  a  regular 
panic.  'Look  here,  Sam,'  she  said,  'here's 
21 


THE   PASS 

a  piece  in  the  paper  that  says  little  Jack 
Hooper  has  shot  himself  in  the  leg,  and  it 
will  have  to  be  cut  off.  Suppose  that 
should  happen  to  one  of  our  boys?' 
'Well,'  I  told  her,  'I  would  rather  have  a 
boy  on  one  sober  leg  than  two  drunken 
ones/  and  that  is  about  right,  I  do  be- 
lieve." 

He  had  the  old  frontiersman's  belief 
in  the  axe  and  the  rifle.  At  any  time  of 
day  could  be  heard  the  report  of  firearms. 
"Somebody's  sighting  his  rifle,"  was  al- 
ways the  explanation.  The  expenditure 
of  ammunition — expensive,  high-power 
ammunition — was  something  enormous, 
but  was  considered  a  good  investment. 

"Yes,  Jim  is  a  tolerable  reliable  shot," 
agreed  the  Ranger ;  and  that  really  meant 
that  Jim  was  sure  death.  "Johnny  has  a 
kind  of  notion  he  can  stick  to  leather," 
meant  that  Johnny  could  ride  out  the 
wildest  bucker.  They  knew  and  had 


THE    FOREST   RANGER 

named  every  deer  for  miles  around.  At 
the  time  we  visited  Big  Meadow  they 
were  discussing  "Old  Three  Toes,"  who 
had  for  years  eluded  them.  Subse- 
quently the  Ranger  wrote  me  that  Three 
Toes  had  been  killed,  and  had  proved  to 
be  of  eight  points.  Certainly  these 
smooth-moving  quiet  giants  and  supple 
boys  could  all  pass  examinations  in  the 
Arabic  education  of  a  man — to  ride, 
shoot,  and  speak  the  truth. 

The  Ranger  was  just  in  for  a  few  days. 
He  had,  of  course,  ridden  the  mountains 
far,  so  we  had  great  fun  discussing  trails 
and  ways  through,  and  the  places  where 
we  had  both  been,  and  where  he  had  been 
and  I  had  not.  In  that  manner  we  became 
interested  in  the  Roaring  River,  a  stream 
that  had  heretofore  impressed  us  merely 
as  waterfalls  and  cascades  dropping  some 
thousands  of  feet  into  the  Kings  River 
canon.  Now  it  seemed  that  there  existec 
23 


THE   PASS 


upper  reaches  among  the  granites  and 
snows.  He  told  me  quite  simply  of  the 
meadows  and  streams  in  the  two  long 
canons.  Somehow  the  names  fascinated 
me — Roaring  River,  forking  into  Cloudy 
and  Deadman's  Canons,  beneath  Table 
and  Milestone  Mountains  of  the  Great 
Western  Divide.  It  is  a  region  practi- 
cally unvisited. 

"There  ought  to  be  bear  up  there,"  said 
the  Ranger,  "and  I  know  there's  deer." 

He  drew  a  rough  map,  showing  some 
landmarks  as  he  remembered  them  from 
a  visit  made  ten  years  before. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  Billy,"  thought  I, 
"we'd  try  it." 

But  Billy  arose  to  her  full  five  feet  and 
demanded  to  know  what  that  had  to  do 
with  it.  When  Billy  demands  things 
from  her  extreme  height  it  is  politic  to 
diplomatize.  So  the  subject  dropped. 

We  led  luxurious  lives.  I  joined  the 
24 


THE   FOREST   RANGER 

littlest  children  perched  on  stockade  logs 
already  in  place,  or  rode  with  the  Ranger 
near  camp.  Billy  talked  learnedly  about 
"starters"  or  "sponges"  with  the  women, 
or  reveled  in  starch.  Starch  she  had  for- 
gotten the  delights  of,  so  she  stiffened 
everything  in  sight  until  material  gave 
out.  Then  she  cast  a  speculative  eye  on 
Pepper  and  her  bristling  terrier  coat,  but 
thought  better  of  it. 

And  Pepper  and  Tuxana  enjoyed 
themselves  also.  A  trough  of  milk  was 
always  kept  full  for  the  various  dogs 
about  the  place.  After  a  breakfast  from 
it,  they  would  dig  happily  for  ground 
squirrels  and  woodchucks.  They  never 
caught  any,  but  accomplished  some  noble 
excavations.  All  that  could  be  seen  of 
any  one  of  them  was  a  quivering  tail 
and  a  shower  of  earth.  Then  suddenly 
a  hinder  end  would  appear,  wriggling 
backward;  a  mud- whiskered,  snap-eyed 
25 


THE   PASS 

happy  countenance  would  pop  out,  look 
about  for  an  instant  vacantly,  and  whisk 
back  again  in  a  panic,  lest  an  instant  had 
been  wasted.  At  night  they  straggled  in 
tired,  dirty,  disgraceful,  with  open,  vacu- 
ous smiles  decorated  by  three  inches  of 
hanging  tongue,  to  flop  down  flat  on  the 
cabin  floor.  There  they  snoozed  all  the 
evening,  their  hind  legs  occasionally 
twitching  as  they  raced  through  dreams 
of  easily  caught  woodchucks. 

The  evenings  were  cold,  so  we  assem- 
bled then  about  the  big  fireplace  in  the 
main  cabin.  We  made  quite  a  gathering, 
and  the  talk  was  of  many  things.  Two 
other  forest  rangers  dropped  in,  both  fine 
fellows. 

The  average  citizen  thinks  of  the  forest 
ranger  as  a  man  whose  main  duty  is  to 
ride  here  and  there  through  the  reserve, 
picnicking  at  night,  and  generally  en- 
joying life.  This  is  not  so.  The  ranger, 
26 


THE    FOREST   RANGER 

in  addition  to  his  fire  patrol  and  fire  fight- 
ing, has  to  keep  trails  in  order,  improve 
old  trails,  mark  out  and  build  new  ones. 
Even  with  the  best  of  tools  this  is  no  mean 
feat  of  engineering  in  a  high  mountain 
country;  but  until  recently  the  Govern- 
ment has  afforded  its  servants  mighty 
little  help  in  that  direction.  Last  sum- 
mer (1904)  was  made  an  appropriation  of 
fifty  dollars  for  powder,  the  first  ever  is- 
sued, in  a  granite  country!  In  addition 
to  his  trail  work,  the  ranger  has  to  regu- 
late the  grazing,  where  the  cattle  men  are 
all  at  war  with  one  another  and  with  au- 
thority ;  to  see  that  sheep  are  excluded ;  to 
oversee  campers  and  settlers;  and  to  pro- 
tect the  game.  If  he  happens  to  have  any 
spare  time  he  tries  to  build  himself  shel- 
ters here  and  there  through  his  district, 
generally  at  his  own  expense. 

All  his  accounts  are  audited  at  Wash- 
ington, by  men  who  know  nothing  of 
27 


THE    PASS 

local  conditions.  Many  of  his  claims  are 
apt  to  be  disallowed,  and  must  then  come 
out  of  his  own  pocket.  For  instance,  one 
man  early  in  the  season,  pursuing  sheep 
trespassers  into  the  high  country  where 
the  grass  was  still  frozen,  put  in  a  claim 
for  two  or  three  sacks  of  horse  feed. 
Claim  disallowed  on  the  ground  that  he 
should  depend  on  natural  feed.  He  has 
to  fight  red  tape  at  Washington,  natural 
difficulties  in  the  field,  powerful  interests 
on  whose  toes  he  must  tread  in  order  to 
fulfill  his  duty  as  ranger,  and  in  some 
cases  gross  neglect  on  the  part  of  time- 
serving or  incompetent  superiors. 

"What  sort  of  a  bird  is  a  supervisor, 
anyway?"  one  asked  me  once.  "I  never 
even  saw  the  tail  feathers  of  one." 

As  a  final  and  additional  discourage- 
ment the  ranger  is  apt  to  be  laid  off 
part  of  the  year  on  grounds  of  econ- 
omy, so  that  he  is  forced  either  to  seek 
28 


THE   FOREST   RANGER 

temporary  work — always  hard  to  find — 
or  to  lie  idle. 

In  spite  of  these  difficulties,  or  perhaps 
by  the  very  fact  that  they  discourage  all 
but  the  enthusiasts,  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
forest  service  is  especially  good.  While 
we  were  at  Big  Meadow  news  came  of  a 
thousand  dollar  trail  appropriation — the 
first  substantial  appropriation  of  the  sort. 
The  rangers  rejoiced  as  heartily  as  though 
each  had  been  left  the  money  as  a  personal 
legacy.  I  know  many  who  spend  a  large 
part  of  their  wages  in  the  improvement  of 
their  districts,  and  each  and  every  one 
lives  in  the  high  hope  that  some  day  the 
service  will  get  its  desert  of  attention  and 
compensation.  With  a  strong  and  able 
leader  these  men  would  go  far.  They, 
with  their  endless  discussions  of  new 
routes  and  possible  trails  and  discovered 
"ways  through,"  are  the  true  pioneers  of 
a  vast  and  rich  country. 


THE   PASS 

At  the  end  of  three  days  Wes  had  not 
yet  appeared.  We  decided  to  move  on, 
leaving  word  for  him  to  overtake  us.  The 
evening  before  our  departure  Billy  took 
affairs  into  her  own  hands. 

"Now  see  here,"  said  she,  "why  can't 
we  go  into  the  Roaring  River  country?" 

"Because  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it,"  said  I. 

"What's  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"Well,"  I  pointed  out,  "unless  you 
know  a  country,  you  never  are  sure  of 
where  you  are  going  to  camp  or  of  how 
long  your  day  is  going  to  be.  It's  too  un- 
certain, and  it's  likely  to  be  hard  work." 

"It  won't  be  hard  work  for  me,"  she 
argued.  "No  matter  how  rough  the  travel 
is  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  sit  on  Coco  while 
you  work;  and  as  for  standing  a  long 
day,  how  long  were  we  the  time  we 
couldn't  ford  the  Kings?" 

"Well,  not  very  long." 
30 


THE   FOREST   RANGER 


"Stop  and  think.  We  broke  camp  at 
half  past  seven;  and  then  we  went  to 
Millwood,  and  didn't  stop  for  lunch,  and 
got  to  the  river  at  five.  Then  how  long 
were  we  trying  to  ford?" 

"Not  long,"  said  I,  weakly. 

"It  was  until  black  dark;  and  this  is 
midsummer.  There !" 

We  argued  at  length.  Finally  we  com- 
promised. We  were  to  go  up  in  the  Roar- 
ing River  country  just  as  far  as  it  was 
comfortable  and  easy.  If  hardships  be- 
gan we  were  to  turn  back.  With  this 
Billy  was  satisfied.  I  think  she  knew  that 
we  would  never  turn  back  once  we  had 
tasted  the  adventure  of  a  first  repulse. 


31 


ROARING   RIVER 


Ill 

ROARING    RIVER 

So  we  received  a  bag  of  venison  jerky 
as  a  parting  gift  and  set  out  for  the 
Rowell  Meadow  Trail.  Wes  was  to  fol- 
low. By  dusk  we  had  gained  a  long  strip 
of  green  grass  running  up  a  shallow  ra- 
vine to  the  darkness  of  the  woods,  a  wide, 
fair  lawn  sloping  to  a  flowing  brook,  and 
four  great  yellow  pines,  one  of  them  pros- 
trate. To  the  broken  limbs  of  the  latter 
we  tethered  our  animals  while  we  un- 
packed. Each  horse,  when  freed,  walked 
immediately  to  a  patch  of  deep  dust  each 
must  already  have  remarked,  took  a  satis- 
fying roll,  shook  vigorously,  and  fell  to 
eating  in  the  strip  of  green  grass.  Tux- 
ana  lay  down.  Pepper,  warm  blooded  and 
thick  coated,  stood  belly  deep  in  the 


THE   PASS 

stream,  an  expression  of  imbecile  satisfac- 
tion on  her  countenance.  Billy  began  to 
scrape  together  a  wagon  load  or  so  of  the 
dry  pine  needles  for  a  bed,  while  I  took 
the  camp  shovel  and  dug  out  a  fireplace 
on  the  edge  of  the  brook.  At  this  point 
the  turf  sloped  down  and  over  the  very 
stream,  so  I  could  turn  directly  from  my 
fire  to  dip  up  water,  which  was  unusual 
and  comforting.  In  ten  minutes  supper 
was  under  way.  The  dry  pine  twigs 
crackled  and  spluttered,  throwing  a  vi- 
bration of  smokeless  heat  straight  up. 
The  three  kettles  set  up  a  bubbling. 

Over  the  stream  and  up  the  incline  of 
*^jj      the  mountain  an  oliveback  was  singing 
his   deliberate,    clear,    liquidly   beautiful 
vespers.     From  the  thin  screen  of  asps 
around   the   meadow   sloping   above  us 
"  came  the  rambling  warble  of  the  purple 
finch.    A  rock  wren  raved  near;  and  a 
water  ouzel  dipped  and  swung  close  to 


ROARING   RIVER 

the  current  of  the  stream.  Great  austere 
shadows  lay  athwart  our  lawn;  the  winds 
of  a  mighty  space  beyond  the  pines 
breathed  softly  across  the  air  warmed  by 
the  sun  that  had  left  us.  Evening,  al- 
ways big  and  fearsome  in  the  mountains, 
hovered  imminent,  ready  to  swoop  in  its 
swift  California  fashion. 

Suddenly  Pepper,  who  had  long  since 
emerged  from  the  stream,  raised  her  head. 

"Woof,  woof!"  she  grumbled  under 
her  breath. 

Once  we  used  to  pay  attention  when 
Pepper  said  "Woof,  woof  I"  but  that  time 
was  gone  by.  Pepper  is  an  actress.  When 
she  can  gain  no  attention  by  cocking  her 
head  to  one  side,  raising  one  ear,  cavorting 
nimbly  in  mid-air,  or  madly  biting  a 
much-abused  tail,  she  looks  fixedly  into 
space  and  growls  in  mighty  threat  and 
great  ferocity.  One  who  did  not  know 

^ 

Pepper  would  imagine  that  by  means  of 
37 


THE   PASS 

preternaturally  keen  senses  she  had  dis- 
covered a  lurking  danger  of  which  she 
warned  us  and  from  which  she  was  pre- 
pared to  defend  us.  But  we  knew  Pep- 
per, so  we  paid  no  attention.  In  a  mo- 
ment, however,  Tuxana  also  showed 
symptoms.  We  got  to  our  feet.  Far 
down  the  slope,  in  the  direction  from 
which  we  had  come,  we  thought  to  catch 
a  gleam  of  white  among  the  pines.  Pres- 
ently we  saw  another.  Then  sounded  a 
faint,  shrill  whistle.  Both  dogs  bounded 
away.  In  a  few  minutes  we  were  lifting 
heavy  packs  of  supplies  from  the  morose 
Dinkey  and  the  faithful  Jenny,  while 
Wes,  a  broad  grin  on  his  face,  made  a 
dive  for  the  kettles. 

That  meant  mail,  the  first  for  two 
months.  We  built  a  big  fire  by  which  to 
read.  The  magazines  were  put  away  in 
"the  library" — a  flour  sack — while  we  de- 
voured our  letters. 

38 


ROARING   RIVER 

The  library  was  a  wonderful  affair. 
Besides  the  magazines,  it  contained  a  va- 
riety surely.  At  first  when  off  on  a  long 
trip  you  do  not  pay  much  attention  to 
reading  matter,  but  after  a  time  you  save 
everything  you  can  lay  your  hand  on.  We 
possessed  about  twenty  dime  novels — 
property  of  Wes — having  to  do  with  the 
adventures  of  Nick  Carter,  the  Sleuth, 
and  with  marvelous  deeds  of  a  youth  of 
sixteen,  known  as  Dick  Merriwell.  Both 
heroes  were  copper-riveted,  and  through- 
out the  most  bewildering  catastrophes  we 
preserved  a  comfortable  confidence  that 
they  would  come  out  all  right.  Then 
there  were  two  books  in  Spanish,  one  vol- 
ume of  obscure  but  interesting  slavers'  ad- 
ventures, two  remarkably  cheap  novels  of 
the  English  nobility,  one  of  Stevenson's, 
two  saddle  catalogues,  and  a  bushel  of  old 
newspapers. 

The  next  morning  we  made  an  early 
39 


THE   PASS 

start,  and  by  ten  o'clock  were  looking 
across  a  wide  sweep  of  pine  country  to 
the  long  crest  of  the  Great  Western  Di- 
vide. Between  us  and  it  intervened  low, 
rolling  mountains  covered  with  timber. 
To  the  left,  many  miles,  and  beyond  a 
ridge  cleft  to  admit  the  passage  of  Roar- 
ing River,  we  divined  the  tremendous 
plunge  of  the  Kings  River  Canon.  To 
the  right,  again  many  miles,  we  discerned 
the  sheer,  bald  granite  peaks,  worn  smooth 
by  glacial  action,  capped  and  streaked  by 
snow,  over  which  our  way  must  lead  were 
we  to  gain  the  canon  of  the  Kaweah.  In 
the  meantime,  our  first  task  must  be  to 
cross  the  wide  pine  country  below  us  until 
we  had  gained  the  canon  down  which 
plunged  the  Roaring  River.  There  we 
were  promised  an  old  mine  trail  leading 
up  to  the  last  sharp  ascent. 

To  our  surprise  we  found  the  way  easy, 
~*}^>  though  a  little  bewildering.     The  pines 

40 


ROARING   RIVER 

were  full  of  streams,  and  the  streams  had 
here  and  there  formed  meadows  rich  with 
feed,  and  on  the  feed  grazed  small,  wild 
bands  of  the  mountain  cattle.  They 
had  tracked  the  country  in  all  directions, 
and  as  the  mine  trail  had  never  been 
blazed  or  monumented,  it  became  increas- 
ingly difficult  to  follow.  Not  that  it  mat- 
tered much.  We  knew  our  direction ;  and, 
indeed,  we  soon  cut  loose  from  convention 
and  struck  off  directly  cross  country. 
Sooner  or  later,  provided  we  kept  to  the 
straight  line,  we  were  bound  to  come  to 
Roaring  River. 

The  country  was  delightful.    We  could 
not  understand  why  it  was  so  little  known. 
The  meadows  lay  fair  and  green,  surj 
rounded  by  dense  thickets  of  cottonwoo( 
or  quaking  asps,  and  islanded  with  roum 
bushes.    The  woods  were  thick  and  tall. 
The  travel  under  foot  was  not  rough,  as 
roughness  goes  in  the  high  mountains. 
41 


THE   PASS 

Of  course,  we  were  not  able  entirely  to 
keep  to  the  straight  line.  The  thickets 
forced  us  to  detour;  the  streams  flowed 
sometimes  in  miniature  unscalable  canons. 
Often  the  pines  gave  place  to  bold  out- 
crops, which  must  be  avoided,  or  wide 
patches  of  manzanita  or  snow-bush, 
through  which  it  was  impossible  to  force 
our  way.  The  shoulder  of  Mt.  Brewer, 
however,  was  our  guiding  mark,  and  we 
steadily  neared  its  shadow. 

Lunch  of  hard  tack  and  raisins  we  ate 
in  the  saddle.  We  saw  many  game  tracks, 
bear  and  deer.  Once,  while  skirting  an 
aspen  thicket  and  buck- jumping  through 
a  windfall,  we  jumped  a  deer  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  leading  horse.  Evidently 
he  had  intended  lying  hidden  in  the  hope 
of  escaping  observation,  but  we  had 
headed  too  directly  toward  him.  He 
turned  sharp  to  the  right,  and  encircled 
our  entire  outfit,  leaping  high  in  the  stiff- 
48 


ROARING   RIVER 

legged  bounds  of  the  blacktail,  until  at 
last,  like  a  phantom,  he  entered  the 
closing-in  point  of  the  trees  and  was 
gone. 

About  three  in  the  afternoon  we  came 
out  over  Roaring  River.  It  was  well 
named.  The  waters  dashed  white  and 
turbulent  far  below  us,  filling  the  forest 
with  their  voice.  We  turned  sharp  to  the 
right,  and  after  some  scrambling  and  un- 
certainty among  ledges  and  boulders 
gained  the  floor  of  the  valley.  Here  we 
rode  for  some  time  until  we  caught  sight 
of  green  on  the  opposite  bank,  made  a 
precarious  ford  through  swift  water  and 
over  uncertain  boulders,  and  at  last  threw 
off  the  packs  on  a  knoll  of  pine  needles 
rising  but  slightly  above  the  thick  grasses. 
We  had  been  ten  hours  in  the  saddle. 


DEADMAN'S    CANON 


IV 


DEADMAN  S   CANON 

A  WINDING  path  led  through  a  fringe 
of  bushes  down  to  the  stream.  There  a 
back  eddy  behind  a  rock  offered  a  peace- 
ful dip  to  our  kettles.  Elsewhere  the 
water  leaped  and  boiled  from  one  pool  to 
another,  without  pause  for  breath,  as 
though  exultant.  Immediately  about  the 
knoll  on  which  we  had  spread  our  tarpau- 
lins the  grass,  sown  with  flowers,  grew 
tall.  Over  opposite,  beyond  the  trees,  a 
high  ridge  rose  imminent.  To  the  left 
and  up  the  canon  a  rounded  bluff  marked 
the  forking  of  the  stream.  We  were 
snugly  backed  by  a  pine  slope,  efficient 
screen  to  the  lofty  mountains  but  just  be- 
47 


THE   PASS 

yond.  A  great  crying  of  waters  filled  the 
hollow  of  our  canon.  At  first  it  drew 
our  attention  almost  too  painfully,  then 
dropped  into  accustomedness,  and  below 
its  roaring  we  made  out  the  elfin  voices 
of  the  rapids  which  I  have  elsewhere  de- 
scribed.* 

It  was  quite  dark  by  the  time  we  had 
cooked  ourselves  something  to  eat.  Wes 
explored  a  little  in  the  dusk,  and  reported 
another  meadow  above,  and  a  cache  of 
provisions  in  a  small  tent,  evidently  the 
property  of  the  man  who  had  brought 
the  cattle  into  the  country  that  spring 
and  would  take  them  out  again  in  the  fall. 
I  whipped  a  few  eddies — there  were  no 
pools — and  caught  three  or  four  trout. 
We  turned  in  well  satisfied  with  our  lot 

X  in  We; 

The  next  morning  we  decided,  in  spite 
of  stout  protests  on  the  part  of  that  young 

*  See  "The  Forest,"  p.  54. 
48 


DEADMAN'S    CANON 

woman,  that  Billy's  ten  hours'  ride  of  the 
day  before  had  been  enough  for  her.  She 
was  to  keep  camp,  while  Wes  and  I  ex- 
plored the  possibilities  of  the  right-hand 
canon.  So  she  strapped  on  "Black  Mike," 
a  six-shooter,  diminutive,  but  with  the 
marvelous  property  of  making  her  feel 
perfectly  safe  against  anything  up  to  and 
including  earthquakes.  Thus  fortified 
she  bade  us  farewell,  and  we  splashed 
across  the  swift  waters  of  the  river. 

The  canon  proved  to  be  seven  or  eight 
miles  long.  It  progressed  upward  by  a 
series  of  terraces.  We  would  ride  through 
a  fringe  of  woods,  or  over  a  meadow,  and 
then  climb  vigorously  to  right  or  left  of 
a  slide  or  broken  fall  until  we  had  gained 
another  level.  The  canon  walls  were  very 
high,  very  sheer,  and  of  nearly  unbroken 
stone.  The  glacial  action  had  brough 
them  to  syncline  near  the  bottom,  so  that 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  we  were  trav 
49 


THE  PASS 

eling  a  smooth  half -cylinder  of  granite  in 
whose  trough  a  certain  amount  of  fertile 
earth  had  accumulated.  The  scenery  thus 
was  inexpressibly  bleak  and  grand. 

After  perhaps  two  hours  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  end  of  the  canon.  There  the 
stream  fell  sheer  in  a  fall  of  indetermi- 
nate height.  The  canon  walls  widened 
around  to  the  grand  sweep  of  a  cirque, 
and  we  were  able  to  view  for  the  first  time 
the  mountain  barrier  over  which  we  must 
win. 

Although  we  were  still  some  miles 
from  the  beginning  of  the  ascent,  we  un- 
saddled and  picketed  our  horses.  The  rest 
of  the  reconnaissance  would  be  easier 
afoot.  While  munching  our  hardtack  and 
jerky  we  examined  minutely  through  our 
glasses  the  face  of  the  mountain  range. 
To  the  left  of  the  fall  it  seemed  green,  and 
beyond  that  were  ledges  and  niches  and 
possibilities  up  to  the  snow  that  filled  the 
50 


DEADMAN'S    CANON 

saddle.  We  followed  painstakingly  every 
step  of  the  way.  It  might  be  done. 

Finally  I  announced  my  intention  of 
taking  a  look  at  the  fall.  Wes  said  he 
would  climb  up  a  break  in  the  right- 
hand  wall.  We  separated,  having  agreed 
on  six-shooter  signals — two  shots,  come; 
three  shots,  come  quick. 

I  found  the  distance  to  the  falls  much 
greater  than  I  had  anticipated.  The  air 
was  very  clear  at  this  elevation,  and  I 
walked  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  be- 
fore I  reached  the  patch  of  snow  at  the 
foot  of  the  steep  grade.  There,  to  my 
delight,  I  discovered  an  old  miner's  trail 
leading  leftward  of  the  falls  through  the 
greenery,  which  turned  out  to  be  tall 
brush.  The  way  was  steep  and  much 
washed,  but  perfectly  practicable  to  good 
horses  such  as  ours.  I  toiled  upward, 
stopping  pretty  often  to  breathe,  until  I 
stood  on  the  small  level  above  the  falls. 


THE   PASS 

Thence,  the  trail  still  leading  in  my  direc- 
tion, I  continued  to  climb,  zig-zagging 
from  one  advantage  to  another,  rather 
shortwinded,  for  I  was  in  a  hurry,  but 
steadily  gaining  toward  the  dazzling  up- 
per peaks. 

My  first  intention  had  been  to  explore 
merely  this  far,  but  as  the  afternoon  was 
still  new  I  made  up  my  mind  to  follow  the 
trail  to  the  end.  The  calendar  said  Au- 
gust, but  up  here  it  was  still  early  spring. 
The  ground  was  soggy  with  water,  and 
from  every  direction  leaped  waterfalls 
and  cascades.  Of  course,  I  was  now  far 
above  timber  line,  but  the  short-hair  grass 

had  gained  foothold  in  some  fortuitous 

\ 

i  little  levels.    As  I  topped  one  of  these,  I 

came  upon  two  golden  eagles  standing  on 
the  rocks  not  twenty  feet  from  my  face. 
They  did  not  seem  greatly  alarmed,  but 
rose  slowly  with  a  flapping  of  mighty 
Shortly  after,  I  arrived  at  the 
« 


DEADMAN'S    CANON 

end  of  the  miner's  trail.  All  that  re- 
mained of  the  camp  was  a  leveled  spot  on 
the  shale,  some  timbers,  a  rusty  pick,  and 
the  usual  cans  and  bottles.  Some  brilliant 
specimens  of  copper  ore  showed  what  had 
been  the  object  of  the  prospecting.  The 
men  must  have  had  to  pack  every  stick  of 
firewood  up  from  the  canon  below. 

I  did  not  pause  here,  for  the  afternoon 
was  spending,  and  it  was  a  long  ride  back 
to  our  Roaring  River  camp.  The  trail 
ended,  so  I  climbed  on  more  circum- 
spectly, trying  to  monument  a  way 
through  for  horses.  This  is  a  trick  re- 
quiring some  practice,  for  you  must 
know,  in  the  first  place,  just  what  a  horse 
can  or  cannot  do  in  an  unbroken  country ; 
and  in  the  second  place,  you  must  under- 
stand enough  of  formations  to  know 

i  *t_ 

whether  or  not  you  are  leading  yourself 
to  a  blind  pocket  of  a  pinched-out  ledge.\v 
The  way  I  found  was  rough,  but  passable, 
53 


THE   PASS 

and  by  another  half  hour  I  had  reached 
the  edge  of  the  snow. 

For  the  first  time  I  looked  back.  Dead- 
man's  Canon  extended  from  directly  be- 
low me.  The  strip  of  earth  down  its 
trough,  which  had  seemed  so  ample  to  us 
while  we  were  traveling  through  it,  now 
had  narrowed  to  a  mere  streak  of  green. 
The  glacial  sweep  of  the  half  cylinder 
from  cliff  to  cliff  appeared  almost  un- 
broken. I  could  make  out  Roaring  River 
Canon  and  the  place  where  Kings  River 
Canon  should  lie,  but  even  beyond  that, 
rising  from  the  lowest  depths,  tier  after 
tier,  were  mountains  and  ranges  innumer- 
able. The  day  was  remarkably  clear,  and 
I  could  see  without  effort  the  snow-clad 
peaks  back  of  Yosemite,  and  that,  as  the 
crow  flies,  was  one  hundred  and  thirty-five 
miles.  I  made  out  also  mountains  we  had 
lived  with,  and  lost  sight  of,  weeks  before. 
It  forced  home  a  feeling  of  the  discrep- 


DEADMAN'S    CANON 

ancy  between  what  a  man  can  conceive 
and  what  he  can  do.  Here  I  could  leap 
at  one  eyesight  to  the  valley  of  the 
Tuolumne,  yet  it  would  take  me  about 
three  toilsome  weeks  to  make  the  notion 
good. 

Peaks  of  every  sort  were  all  about  me 
as  on  a  spacious  relief  map.  The  imme- 
diate surroundings,  except  back  of  me  in 
the  case  of  the  mountain  I  was  climbing, 
and  to  the  east  of  me,  where  intervened 
the  Great  Western  Divide,  were  fortu- 
nately lower  than  myself,  so  I  could  see 
to  the  natural  horizon.  The  general 
effect  to  the  distant  north  and  west  was 
of  an  undulating  pine-green  carpet,  from 
which  sprang  boldly  here  and  there 
groups  of  white  or  granite  peaks.  At  the 
middle  distance,  however,  the  mantle 
broke  into  a  tumult  of  stone  and  snow. 

I  here  left  the  picking  of  a  horse  route, 
and  climbed  straight  up  the  snow.  From 
55 


THE   PASS 

this  point  the  problem  was  easy,  and  the 
detailed  selection  of  a  trail  would  bear 
postponement.  In  twenty  minutes'  hard 
scrabbling  I  had  gained  the  saddle,  and 
looked  over  into  the  valley  of  the  Ka- 
weah. 

I  suppose  this  point  represents  the  wild- 
est and  most  rugged  of  the  Sierras.  The 
Great  Western  Divide,  above  fourteen 
thousand  feet,  runs  down  from  the  north- 
west. It  is  crossed  at  one  angle  by 
a  tremendous  and  splintered  upheaval 
called  the  Kaweah  Group,  and  at  another 
by  the  lesser  but  still  formidable  ridge  on 
which  I  stood. 

Three  canons  headed  almost  at  my  feet: 
Deadman's  Canon,  up  which  we  had  that 
day  ridden;  Cloudy  Canon,  which  turned 
sharp  back  toward  its  neighbor,  to  come 
to  rest  beneath  the  same  peak;  and  the 
mighty  canon  of  the  Kaweah,  a  second 
Yosemite,  with  its  polished  granite 
56 


DEADMAN'S   CANON 

aprons,  its  awful  plunges,  and  the  bleak 
ruggedness  of  its  snows  and  spires. 

I  looked  down  then  from  the  saddle  to 
the  headwaters  of  the  Kaweah  River  with 
some  curiosity.  To  my  left  was  a  great 
cirque,  a  semi-circle  of  sheer  mountains  of 
nothing  but  granite  and  snow.  In  the  cup 
was  a  torment  of  splintered  granite  debris 
unrelieved  by  a  single  spear  of  any  green 
thing;  and  two  lakes,  one  slightly  higher 
than  the  other.  The  upper  of  these  two 
lakes  was  frozen  solid;  but  from  the 
lower,  in  which  floated  white  ice,  a  stream 
crept  to  the  edge  of  the  cirque. 

There  it  plunged  several  hundred  feet 
to  a  second  level,  again  circular  in  shape. 
This  contained  another  lake,  and  a  green 
meadow,  through  which  filtered  innumer- 
able snaky  streamlets,  but  no  trees.  Again 
the  plunge  to  still  a  third  level ;  and  at  the 
very  lower  end  of  this,  beyond  the  usual 
lake,  were  two  or  three  tamarack  trees. 
57 


THE   PASS 

Then  the  canon  floor  disappeared  in  the 
middle  of  the  earth. 

And  over  opposite,  contemporaneous 
with  my  own  elevation,  were  the  giants  of 
the  Kaweah  group,  black,  scarred  by 
storms,  wreathed  with  snow  clinging  in 
streaks  to  their  polished  steep  sides. 

I  climbed  part  way  down  the  southern 
slope  of  the  saddle  in  which  I  stood.  The 
way  was  over  shale  for  a  few  hundred 
feet,  then  narrowed  to  a  steep  rock 
"chimney,"  like  a  funnel-mouth  pointing 
to  the  abysses  below.  Nothing  could  pass 
that  way.  I  retraced  my  steps  to  the  sad- 
dle and  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  peak  to 
eastward,  whence  I  could  look  down  into 
Cloudy  Canon  and  over  to  the  Great 
Western  Divide.  Between  Cloudy  Canon 
and  the  headwaters  of  the  Kaweah  lay 
another  saddle,  lower  than  the  one  I 
had  just  climbed.  Moreover,  just  beyond 
it  was  a  red  mountain.  Now  the  Ranger 
58 


DEADMAN'S    CANON 

had  given  us  a  red  mountain  as  a  land- 
mark for  our  possible  pass.  Therefore,  I 
concluded  that  the  lower  saddle  would  be 
our  best  "way  through,"  and  that  we 
should  bring  our  pack  train  up  Cloudy 
rather  than  Deadman's  Canon. 

By  now  it  was  four  o'clock.  I  returned 
to  the  saddle,  spread  my  arms  out,  dug 
my  heels  in,  and  fairly  sailed  down  the 
steep  slope  of  snow.  It  did  not  matter 
much  whether  or  not  I  fell — I  merely 
rolled  a  greater  or  lesser  distance.  Be- 
hind me  a  cloud  of  snow  rose  thick  as  dust 
on  a  country  road.  It  was  glorious. 
Tuxana,  who  had  followed  me  patiently, 
woke  into  wild  excitement.  She  raced 
around  and  around,  her  hind  legs  tucked 
well  under  her,  her  forelegs  bent  down 
in  front,  her  ears  back,  and  her  eyes  L 
snapping  with  excitement.  At.  last  she 
understood  the  reason  for  this  fool  expe- 
dition. 

59 


THE   PASS 

We  were  soon  out  of  the  snow,  but  even 
in  soggy  and  rocky  trails  going  down  is 
quicker  than  going  up — at  ten  thousand 
feet.  We  gained  the  bottom  in  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour.  There  I  fired  my 
six-shooter  and  sat  down  on  a  rock,  for  I 
was  pretty  tired.  In  a  little  while  Wes 
rode  up,  leading  Bullet. 

He  reported  an  interesting  view  and 
a  fine  glacier  lake,  but  nothing  of  prac- 
tical importance.  We  rode  home  through 
the  early  twilight  of  deep  canons,  the 
domes  and  battlements  above  us  looming 
huger  and  more  portentous  as  the  light 
failed.  About  seven  o'clock  we  regained 
camp.  Billy  had  caught  some  fish  and 
cooked  some  supper. 

"To-morrow,"  said  we,  "we  will  go  up 
to  the  head  of  Cloudy  Canon;  next  day 
we  will  work  over  the  pass,  and  so  on 
down." 

The  Ranger  had  told  us  that  once  we 

60 


DEADMAN'S    CANON 

had  gained  the  saddle  the  rest  was  easy; 
and  I  had  seen  enough  to  convince  me 
that  a  little  hard  work  would  get  us  to  the 
top.  Four  days  later  we  recamped  at  this 
very  spot  after  our  first  repulse. 


CLOUDY 


CLOUDY   CANON 

CLOUDY  CANON  we  found  to  differ 
from  Deadman's  Canon  only  in  the  fact 
that  at  its  lower  end  it  was  more  over- 
grown with  aspen  thickets,  and  at  the 
upper  end  the  jumps  by  terraces  were 
rougher.  The  glacial  polishings  were 
seen  to  great  advantage  here,  in  some 
places  so  glossy,  even  on  granite,  as  to 
shine  in  the  sun  like  mirrors.  Some  of  the 
meadows  we  had  to  cross  proved  boggy, 
some  of  the  ascents  full  of  broken  and 
jagged  debris.  Still  the  travel  was  good 
enough,  and  by  four  or  five  o'clock  we  had 
gained  the  last  cirque  before  the  ascent  to 
the  saddle  I  had  the  day  before  seen  from 
above. 

We  camped  on  a  flat  just  over  the 
65 


THE    PASS 


stream.  The  nearest  wood  was  at  some 
distance.  By  means  of  our  riatas  we 
dragged  enough  for  a  blaze.  Patches  of 
snow  lay  all  about  us.  A  cold  wind 
sucked  down  from  above,  and  as  the  gray 
of  evening  descended  the  immediate  sur- 
roundings took  on  a  black  and  desolate 
aspect.  Even  the  water  of  the  stream 
looked  cold  and  steel  color,  as  though  it 
had  but  just  melted  from  the  ice,  as,  in- 
deed, was  the  case. 

The  mountain  above,  however,  was 
heavily  stained  with  iron,  and  the  red  of 
this,  catching  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  after 
the  other  ranges  had  become  slate-gray, 
caused  it  to  glow  as  with  some  interior  fire 
of  incandescence.  We  watched  it  as  we 
would  watch  a  wood  fire  in  a  grate  —  this 
great  mass  of  stone  and  snow  —  reddening 
and  paling,  burning  with  a  fiercer,  hotter 
combustion  or  cooling  as  it  died.  At  last 
the  evening  shadow  quenched  it. 


£f 


CLOUDY    CANON 

In  the  meantime  we  had  been  exploring 
with  our  glasses.  It  was  entirely  out  of 
the  question  to  go  straight  up  the  canon. 
That  was  banked  solid  with  snow  perhaps 
fifty  or  sixty  feet  deep.  The  ascent  to  the 
right  hand  of  the  canon  looked  easy 
enough  for  some  distance,  but  on  that 
side  at  the  base  of  the  pass  again  inter- 
vened a  sheet  of  snow.  To  the  left  all 
seemed  clear,  with  the  exception  of  a 
"nigger  head,"  three-quarters  of  the  way 
up.  It  might,  however,  be  possible  to  get 
over  this.  Only  actual  reconnaissance 
could  determine  that  point. 

By  this  time  it  had  grown  to  be  dis- 
tinctly cold.  We  had  a  good  fire,  and  our 
sweaters,  but  even  they  could  not  entirely 
keep  out  the  penetrating  snow  chill.  So, 
as  always  in  such  cases,  we  decided  on 
exercise  and  got  out  Tuxana's  gunny- 
sack. 

Tuxana,  as  I  have  explained,  is  a  bull 
67 


THE   PASS 

terrier.  She  is  built  of  whalebone  springs. 
If  you  do  not  believe  this,  you  should  see 
her  hunting  through  a  high  grass.  Then 
you  would  observe  her  bounding  three  or 
four  feet  straight  up  in  the  air  in  order 
to  get  sight  over  the  tops. 

Now  Tuxana's  character  is  simple,  ear- 
nest and  single-minded.  What  she  un- 
dertakes she  does  with  all  her  might,  and 
nothing  can  distract  her  attention  from 
it.  And  the  things  she  delights  in  are 
three:  The  first  is  hunting,  the  second  is 
swinging  from  a  gunny  sack,  the  third  is 
swimming  after  a  stick.  I  have  men- 
tioned these  in  the  order  of  their  impor- 
tance. In  all  other  matters  Tuxana  is 
staid  and  unexcited  and  of  a  reasonable 
disposition.  But  let  a  squirrel  chirp,  a 
bag  move,  or  a  stick  appear,  and  Tux- 
ana's  mental  equilibrium  totters.  Life 
focusses. 

So  I  stood  up  and  held  the  sack  above 
68 


CLOUDY    CANON 

my  head.  Tuxana's  eyes  snapped.  She 
leaped  straight  into  the  air  higher  than 
my  shoulder,  and  her  teeth  came  together 
viciously. 

"How'd  you  like  to  get  your  hand  in 
there?"  asked  Wes. 

At  the  third  jump  she  managed  to  seize 
the  bag.  Her  jaws  clamped.  Her  eyes 
closed  luxuriously  for  a  moment.  Thence- 
forward nothing  could  shake  her  loose. 
I  swung  her  around  my  head;  I  pulled 
her  along  the  ground.  Always,  her  eyes 
half  shut  in  pleasure,  but  snapping  with 
beady  lights  beneath  her  lids,  she  resisted. 
Finally  I  paused.  At  once  Tuxana  as- 
sumed the  aggressive.  Half  squatting 
she  began  to  pull  by  little  jerks.  It  was 
astonishing  what  power  she  developed.  I 
was  four  times  her  weight,  and  yet 
I  could  hardly  hold  her.  Finally.  I  threw 
her  the  sack.  Immediately  Pepper,  who 
had  been  awaiting  the  chance,  sprang  f  or- 
69 

"// 


THE   PASS 

ward  to  grab  the  other  end.  Growling 
fiercely  the  two  dogs  wrestled  for  posses- 
sion. In  the  end,  however,  Tuxana  con- 
quered by  virtue  of  her  superior  age 
and  weight — Pepper  was  at  that  time 
only  nine  months  old — and  sat  proudly 
on  the  sack,  daring  any  one  to  take  it 
from  her. 

We  moved  aside  the  smallest  and  most 
prominent  stones,  laid  out  our  saddle 
blankets  next  the  ground,  spread  the  big 
canvas  taupaulin  over  them,  added  a 
wadded  comforter  or  "sogun"  as  addi- 
tional softening,  and  finished  the  bed  with 
our  gray  army  blanket.  The  other  end  of 
the  canvas  then  folded  over  the  whole. 
Wes  took  the  lantern  and  hunted  himself 
a  place  to  do  likewise. 

It  was  very  cold.  We  put  on  two  suits 
of  underwear  and  our  sweaters  and  moc- 
casins. Then  we  turned  in.  Tuxana 

looked  wistful,  so  we  held  up  a  corner, 

70 


CLOUDY   CANON 

and  she  crawled  down  to  our  feet.  How 
she  breathed  I  cannot  tell  you,  but  she 
seemed  perfectly  happy.  Pepper  we  cov- 
ered up  carefully — we  always  did.  In 
about  ten  seconds  she  got  panicky  because 
her  head  was  covered,  instituted  a  general 
upheaval  of  blankets,  and  got  kicked  out 
into  the  cold.  This  was  the  usual  pro- 
gramme. 

Our  noses  turned  cold,  the  stars  over  us 
seemed  fairly  to  crackle  in  the  heavens, 
the  still  silver  mountains  sparkled  in  the 
rare  air.  We  could  hear  the  swift  dash  of 
the  snow-water  in  the  creek  below,  the 
faint  sound  of  the  horse  bell  in  the  short- 
hair  meadow.  The  wind  lifted  and  let  fall 
a  corner  of  the  tarpaulin.  We  were  glad 
of  woolen  things  and  wind-turning  covers 
and  snug  quarters.  The  remains  of  the 
fire  glowed  and  sputtered  faintly.  To 
the  south  I  could  see  in  silhouette  the 
dip  of  the  saddle.  It  rose  gloomy  and 
71 


THE    PASS 

forbidding,  mysterious  in  its  own  black- 
ness. 

"Oh,  but  it's  going  to  be  some  chillsome 
at  four  in  the  morning!"  said  I  to  Billy. 

So  we  went  to  sleep. 


BLOODY   PASS 


VI 

BLOODY    PASS 

FOUR  o'clock  in  the  morning  proved  in- 
deed to  be  mighty  cold.  The  sun  was  just 
gilding  some  peaks  a  long  distance  above 
us,  but  that  did  not  do  us  any  good.  All 
the  horses  had  moved  over  to  the  west- 
ward slope  of  the  mountain,  where  they 
would  be  certain  to  catch  the  very  first 
rays  of  warmth.  Their  hair  stuck  up  dark 
and  velvety. 

A  hot  cup  of  coffee  went  to  the  spot. 
Then  we  caught  up  the  horses,  and  if 
there  is  anything  more  finger-numbing 
and  distressing  than  to  undo  heavy  leather 
hobbles  stiff  with  frost,  then  I  do  not 
know  what  it  is.  We  brought  them  in 
to  camp. 

I  left  Wes  to  pack  up,  and  pushed  on 
in  light  marching  order  up  the  right  hand 
75 


THE   PASS 

of  the  canon.  Our  way  probably  led  to 
the  left  and  over  the  "nigger-head,"  but 
it  was  thought  best  to  overlook  no  bets. 
We  agreed  on  a  conventional  six-shooter 
signal. 

It  took  me  probably  an  hour  to  reach 
the  snow  line.  I  could  make  out  a  dim 
miner's  trail  as  far  as  that,  but  of  course 
it  was  lost  beyond.  A  very  steep  climb 
over  frozen  snow-fields — utterly  impossi- 
ble for  horses— brought  me  to  the  ridge, 
and  once  again  I  looked  into  the  canon  of 
the  Kaweah.  The  ridge  ran  up  to  a  very 
knife  edge  of  rock,  some  of  it  solid,  some 
cut  by  the  frost  into  blocks  and  some 
loose  and  wobbly,  but  none  over  eighteen 
inches  wide.  It  fell  away  on  either  side 
for  twenty  or  thirty  feet.  After  two 
minutes  I  was  glad  to  descend  again  to 
the  snow. 

With  many  precautions  against  slip- 
ping I  skirted  the  base  of  the  cliffs  until 


We  had  just  time  to  dig  our  heels  in  and  brace  for  the  shock  when  over 

she  went. 


BLOODY   PASS 

I  had  reached  the  saddle.  There  I  walked 
out  into  plain  sight  on  the  snow  and  fired 
my  six-shooter  twice,  by  way  of  a  signal 
to  take  the  left  hand,  as  the  only  possible 
route.  Watching  carefully  through  my 
glasses  I  made  out  Wes  and  Billy  round- 
ing the  pack  stock  together.  Satisfied 
that  they  understood,  I  now  turned  my 
attention  to  the  problem  of  surmounting 
the  nigger-head. 

A  very  cursory  examination  proved  to 
me  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  pass 
above  it.  The  upper  side  fell  off  sheer. 
Below  it  ran  a  narrow  strip  of  rock  and 
shale,  steep  as  a  roof,  and  dropping  off 
straight  into  the  main  canon. 

The  slant  as  it  stood  was  too  abrupt  for 
footing.  A  horse  would  simply  creep 
around  below  the  precipice  of  the  nigger- 
head  until  he  came  to  the  narrow  steep 
roof.  Then  his  weight  would  start  an 
avalanche  in  the  shale  which  would  carry 
77 


THE   PASS 

him  off  the  edge  to  an  untimely  death. 
So  I  began  to  experiment,  and  soon  dis- 
covered that  by  sitting  down  and  kicking 
vigorously  I  could  gouge  out  a  little  fur- 
row which  would  hold.  It  was  tough  on 
the  shoes,  and  rather  hard  work ;  but  I  sat 
there  and  kicked  cheerfully  until  I  had 
accomplished  a  nick  from  the  head  of 
the  canon  to  the  base  of  the  nigger-head. 
It  was  rather  an  invisible  sort  of  nick,  and 
it  ran  only  about  twenty  feet  above  the 
precipice,  and  it  was  very  crumbly  at  best, 
but  I  looked  upon  it  with  pride  and  sat- 
isfaction. 

There  remained  only  about  forty  feet 
to  do.  That  ran  through  cliff-debris  from 
the  nigger-head.  I  went  over  it  once  to 
find  the  easiest  route,  then  set  myself  vig- 
orously to  rolling  boulders  aside,  and  to 
chinking  the  worst  holes.  This  was  rather 
good  fun.  The  big  stones  went  bounding 
and  jumping  away  like  living  things, 
78 


BLOODY   PASS 


striking  fire  at  every  contact,  finally  leap- 
ing from  view  over  the  last  precipice,  only 
to  reappear  after  an  interval  minimized 
by  distance,  still  rolling  and  bouncing  un- 
til at  last  the  repeated  shocks  broke  them 
to  pieces  a  thousand  feet  below.  The 
smell  of  burning  was  in  the  air  from  the 
superheated  stones.  Gradually  foot  by 
foot  I  worked  forward  until  at  last,  when 
Wes  appeared  around  the  corner  riding 
Modesto,  there  remained  not  over  ten  feet 
to  do. 

He  dismounted  and  together  we  went 
at  the  remainder.  Then  we  walked  back 
and  forth  over  the  length  of  the  trail  test- 
ing for  weak  spaces,  after  which  we  rode 
across  in  sixty  seconds,  quite  safely,  but 
with  many  doubts.  Our  horses  were  the 
veterans  of  several  hard  mountain  trips, 
and  they  stepped  lightly  and  surely.  So 
we  gained  the  snowline. 

At  this  point  the  stream,  somewhere  be- 
79 


THE    PASS 

neath  a  canon  full  of  snow,  headed  in  a 
small  circular  cup,  whose  sides  sloped 
steeply  to  a  glacier  lake.  The  water  of 
this  lake  was  of  a  deep  rich  peacock-blue, 
typical  of  the  glaciers,  but  quite  impos- 
sible to  describe.  It  was  fringed  by  white 
ice,  which  ran  out  below  the  surface  in 
ledges  of  the  most  perfect  robin's-egg 
blue  imaginable.  The  dazzling  white, 
brilliant  rich  peacock,  and  paler  translu- 
cent blue  gave  the  impression  of  some 
rare  and  precious  gem. 

The  shores  sloped  very  steeply,  and 
were  covered  with  snow  which  terminated 
only  at  the  base  of  the  sheer  ridge  above. 
Directly  across  the  lake,  and  perhaps  two 
hundred  feet  up,  this  ridge  broke  and 
splintered.  Wes  and  I  climbed  up  and 
took  a  look  at  it.  It  ran  in  sharp  needles 
of  rock,  knife-edge  slabs  struck  upright, 
and  jumbled  ledge  matter.  Wes  picked 
out  a  possibility. 


BLOODY   PASS 

"If  they  get  through  here,  we'll  have  to 
take  out  a  license  for  keeping  goats," 
said  Wes. 

We  piled  up  small  stones  to  help  in 
some  places,  and  pried  out  what  obstruc- 
tions we  could,  but  our  best  was  mighty 
little.  I  have  seen  horses  travel  in  rough 
country,  but  this  little  bit  was  the  worst. 
However,  we  consoled  ourselves  with  the 
Ranger's  assurance  that  once  to  the  top 
our  troubles  would  be  over.  We  started 
the  horses  along.  First  they  had  to  skirt 
the  lake  and  climb  slanting  up  the  steep 
snow  bank.  We  anticipated  no  trouble  in 
this,  but  when  about  half  way  up  discov- 
ered something  of  which  our  light  weight 
afoot  had  not  apprised  us.  The  top  cov- 
ering was  comparatively  loose;  but  earlier 
in  the  year,  before  the  last  snowfall,  evi- 
dently a  freezing  rain  had  fallen,  so  about 
six  inches  under  the  surface  lay  a  hard 
and  slippery  crust. 

81 


THE   PASS 

Dinkey,  always  cocky  and  self-confi- 
dent, was  the  first  victim.  She  slipped, 
attempted  to  recover,  and  went  down. 
Slowly  the  weight  of  her  pack  overcame 
her  balance,  forcing  her  as  one  wrestler 
forces  another. 

"Look  out!  She's  going  to  roll  over!" 
yelled  Wes. 

He  threw  his  riata  over  her  head.  We 
had  just  time  to  dig  our  heels  in  and  brace 
for  the  shock  when  over  she  went. 

Now  it  was  about  a  hundred  feet  down 
to  the  glacier  lake,  and  we  both  knew  that 
if  Dinkey  ever  plunged  into  it  we  should 
never  see  her  again.  So  we  braced  a 
mighty  brace,  and  heaved  a  mighty 
heave.  I  can't  describe  the  rest  in  detail. 
I  know  I  slid  ten  feet  or  so  on  my  heels, 
was  upended,  enveloped  in  a  choking 
whirl  of  snow,  felt  the  rope  encircle  me 
and  so  cast  it  loose,  stopped  rolling, 
cleared  my  eyes,  saw  the  end  of  the  rope 
82 


BLOODY   PASS 

within  a  foot  of  me,  grabbed  it,  and  was 
again  yanked  through  space. 

When  the  sky  resumed  its  natural  posi- 
tion I  found  that  the  combined  efforts  of 
Dinkey,  Wes  and  myself  had  brought  the 
outfit  to  a  standstill  just  about  one  yard 
from  the  edge  of  the  peacock-blue  water 
in  the  glacier  lake.  We  were  covered  with 
snow,  and  we  sprawled  at  the  end  of  what 
looked  to  be  the  track  of  an  avalanche. 

"Well,  we  stayed  with  it,"  said  Wes. 

We  looked  up.  Billy  was  roosting  on  a 
rock  with  a  camera  in  her  hand.  Bullet, 
good,  wise  old  Bullet,  had  headed  the  rest 
of  the  pack  train  and  was  holding  it  there 
in  the  deep  snow.  Tuxana  and  Pepper, 
who  had  added  to  the  joy  of  the  scene  by 
chasing  around  and  around  in  mad  circles, 
sat  on  their  haunches  with  a  please-do-it- 
again  smile  on  their  faces. 

It  now  became  necessary  to  return 
Dinkey  to  her  original  position.  We  did 
83 


THE   PASS 

this  very  gingerly  by  leading  her  back  to 
the  starting  place.  She  had  completely 
lost  her  nerve  and  trembled  pathetically. 
At  this  Wes  and  I  rejoiced  somewhat,  for 
Dinkey  heretofore  had  made  us  feel  very 
inferior  and  ignorant. 

We  now  set  ourselves  in  good  earnest 
to  the  task  of  gaining  the  last  hundred 
feet.  A  rope  was  attached  to  Bullet;  we 
both  took  a  hand.  But  Bullet  walked 
across  like  a  tight-rope  dancer.  At  the 
piled  up  destruction  of  the  boulders  and 
ridges  he  took  his  time,  smelt  out  each 
step,  and  passed  without  an  accident.  I 
rubbed  his  forehead  for  him,  and  left  him 
on  a  tiny  flat  place  just  beyond  the  top. 

Jenny  came  next.  She  started  confi- 
dently enough,  following  Bullet's  lead, 
but  soon  had  the  bad  luck  to  thrust  one 
hind  leg  through  a  thin  spot  and  down 
into  a  deep  hole.  In  the  recovery  she  fell 
on  her  side,  and  while  we  managed  to 
84 


Bullet  took  his  time,  smelled  out  each  step,  and  passed  without  an  accident. 


BLOODY   PASS 

prevent  her  rolling  over,  she  came  so  near 
it  that  she  uttered  a  sharp  squeal  of  fright. 
Two  years  before  Jenny  had  fallen  from 
the  trail,  had  caught  on  a  narrow  ledge, 
and  had  been  slung  thence  bodily  by 
means  of  two  riatas.  The  experience  had 
shattered  her  nerves.  Now  she  went  all 
to  pieces.  We  undid  her  pack  rope,  teased 
the  kyak  from  beneath  her — gave  her 
every  chance  in  the  world.  But  she  re- 
fused even  to  try  to  get  up.  So  we 
twisted  her  tail  and  pulled  on  her  lead 
rope  until  she  had  to  make  some  effort. 
Even  then  she  struggled  wildly,  her  eye 
fairly  glazed  with  terror.  Of  course,  she 
went  down  again,  and  yet  again,  flounder- 
ing like  a  big  fish.  We  held  her  to  the 
slope  without  too  great  difficulty,  for  we 
had  good  footholds,  and  little  by  little 
teased  her  along  toward  the  edge  of  the 
snow  and  the  beginning  of  the  splintered 
rocks.  There  we  hoped  Jenny  would  get 
85 


THE   PASS 

over  her  hysterics  in  the  realization  of  ac- 
customed footing.  The  last  ten  feet  she 
floundered  forward  on  her  fore  knees, 
never  even  attempting  to  get  more  fully 
to  her  feet. 

Once  secure  we  let  her  stand,  while  we 
ourselves  carried  over  her  pack  to  where 
Bullet  patiently  awaited  us.  Then,  hav- 
ing decided  that  Jenny  should  have  re- 
gained her  poise  by  this  time,  we  led 
her  on. 

How  she  surmounted  that  hundred  foot 
climb  without  breaking  her  fool  neck  will 
always  be  a  problem.  She  slipped  and 
skated  and  fell  and  recovered.  The  sharp 
edges  cut  her  fearfully.  Blood  streaked 
her  from  a  dozen  wounds,  ran  down  her 
white  coat,  even  dripped  on  the  rocks. 
We  were  sorry,  but  we  could  not  help  it. 
Finally  we  did  gain  the  saddle,  and  look- 
ing back  with  deep  breaths  of  relief 
named  this  Bloody  Pass. 
86 


BLOODY   PASS 

Buckshot  made  the  snow  fields  with 
nothing  worse  than  several  bad  staggers, 
and  the  splintered  rocks  sagely  and  care- 
fully, testing  each  foothold,  as  was  Buck- 
shot's fashion.  Old  Slob,  too,  did  well, 
though  he  was  badly  frightened.  At  one 
spot  it  was  necessary  to  jump  from  an 
unstable  take-off  up  a  little  ledge.  Old 
Slob,  too  anxious  to  do  the  thing  prop- 
erly, rather  over-did  the  matter;  his  pack 
over-balanced  him,  and  he  poised  on  the 
verge  of  falling  directly  backward  off  the 
mountain.  That  would  have  been  the  end 
of  Old  Slob.  Fortunately  my  footing 
was  good,  so  that  by  throwing  every  ounce 
of  my  weight  into  the  riata  by  which  I 
was  leading  him,  I  was  able  to  decide  the 
balance. 

So  we  led  them  up  one  at  a  time.    The 

climbing  was  severe,  for  the  altitude  was 

somewhere  about  eleven  thousand  feet. 

We  worked  like  slaves,  and  when,x  after 

87 


THE   PASS 

various  minor  incidents  of  the  kind  al- 
ready detailed,  we  had  crowded  the  last 
of  the  animals  on  the  big  flat  rock  at  the 
top,  we  were  glad  to  hunt  the  lea  of  a 
boulder  for  a  rest. 

We  ate  hardtack  and  venison  jerky  and 
raisins,  and  told  each  other  that  the  worst 
now  was  over.  Indeed,  as  far  as  we  could 
see,  the  descent  did  not  seem  to  be  espe- 
cially difficult.  A  series  of  ledges  slant- 
ing into  each  other  irregularly  ran  in 
natural  lacets  to  the  limit  of  eyesight. 

After  we  had  eaten  we  started  down. 
The  way  was  very  rough,  as  you  may  im- 
agine, but  opposed  no  insuperable  obsta- 
cles to  our  animals.  It  was  necessary  only 
that  one  of  us  should  scout  far  enough 
ahead  to  assure  an  open  way  from  one 
broad  ledge  to  another.  This  was  not 
difficult,  for  a  man  afoot  can  get  about 
much  more  rapidly  than  the  horses.  Oc- 
casionally, Wes  and  Billy  would  halt  un- 
88 


BLOODY   PASS 

til  I  had  explored  all  the  possibilities  of  a 
choice  of  several  routes. 

In  this  way  we  worked  down  about  a 
thousand  feet.  The  passage  in  general 
was  plain  before  us.  We  had  to  do  a  few 
hundred  feet  more  of  this  ledge  country, 
then  step  out  on  a  long  shale  slide,  which, 
however  steep  and  unstable  it  might  prove 
to  be,  would  take  us  safely  enough  to  the 
shores  of  the  second  glacier  lake.  There 
we  could  camp. 

I  scouted  ahead,  came  to  a  forty-foot 
drop,  returned,  took  another  way,  came 
to  the  same  forty-foot  drop ;  repeated  the 
operation,  gained  exactly  the  same  result. 

Then  both  of  us  men  turned  in  to  ex- 
plore in  earnest.  A  half  hour  convinced 
us  that  we  were  in  a  cul-de-sac  to  which 
all  possible  routes  from  the  saddle  con- 
verged. There  was  no  other  way.  Our 
glasses  showed  us  impassable  debris 
below. 

89 


^, 


THE   PASS 

We  sat  down  to  face  the  situation.  We 
could  not  go  on;  we  could  not  camp  here 
in  the  granite,  where  there  was  no  feed, 
no  water,  no  fuel.  The  nearest  of  those 
necessities  was  precisely  whence  we  had 
started  this  morning. 

"We've  got  to  go  back,"  concluded 
Wes,  reluctantly. 

It  was  by  now  three  o'clock.  We  had 
been  since  daylight  getting  this  far.  Our 
horses  were  tired  out  from  the  rough 
climbing  and  the  lack  of  food;  they  had 
not  had  a  mouthful  since  they  had  ceased 
grazing  late  the  previous  night.  Before 
us  was  a  sharp  thousand-foot  climb,  and 
then  the  extraordinary  difficulties  we  had 
surmounted  with  so  much  pains  and  dan- 
ger. As  if  to  add  positively  a  story-book 
touch  to  the  discouragement  of  the  out- 
look, the  sky  clouded  over,  and  a  cold, 
sleety  rain  began  to  fall. 


WE   FALL   BACK 


VII 

WE   FAT.T.    BACK 

BY  this  time  it  was  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  We  had  to  traverse  before 
dark  the  distance  we  had  taken  since  day- 
light to  cover.  As  additional  full  meas- 
ure, the  clouds,  which  latterly  had  been 
gathering  about  the  peaks  of  the  Kaweah 
Group  opposite,  now  swept  across  to  en- 
velope us.  Our  horses  were  tired  because 
of  hunger  and  the  hard  day.  We  could 
anticipate  only  a  bleak,  hard  camp  to 
which  we  would  have  to  drag  wood  at  the 
end  of  our  riatas  before  we  could  even  get 
warm. 

Pepper  and  Tuxana  alone  were  aggra- 

vatingly  cheerful.    They  sniffed  eagerly 

into  all  the  crevices  among  the  rocks, 

93 


THE   PASS 


popped  up  bright-eyed  over  the  tops  of 
boulders,  quivered  with  their  anxiety  to 
find  out  what  all  this  expedition  was 
about,  anyway.  It  would  have  suited  us 
better  if  they  had  adapted  their  demeanor 
more  accurately  to  the  situation.  I  wish 
I  had  a  dog's  vivid  interest  in  mere  living. 

Buckshot  groaned  and  grumbled ;  Din- 
key swore,  but  up  the  ridge  they  had  to 
climb  again.  In  the  desperation  of  great 
weariness  is  an  apparently  careless  haste 
that  sometimes  accomplishes  marvels.  It 
carried  us  over  the  needles  of  rock  and 
down  the  snow  slopes  without  the  smallest 
accident.  Rain  began  to  fall,  at  first  like 
mist,  then  more  heavily  in  long,  pelting 
lines.  Darkness  was  shutting  in. 

At  this  point  Billy  and  the  dogs  left  us. 
They  were  to  run  down  the  snow  lying 
deep  in  the  canon.  The  crust  was  plenty 
strong  enough  to  support  a  human  being, 
with  some  to  spare,  but  the  horses  would 
$4 


WE   FALL   BACK 


probably  have  broken  through.  We 
watched  her  figure  dwindle  as  she  slid  and 
slipped  down  the  long  white  declivity. 
Our  fate  was  to  pick  out  in  the  darkness 
and  rain  the  miserable  and  tortuous  foot- 
hold we  had  that  morning  constructed. 
We  speedily  became  wet  through,  after 
which  the  affair  was  an  entire  engross- 
ment in  dark,  slippery  rocks,  the  trickle 
of  waters,  voids  filled  with  gray,  and  con- 
stant shoutings  of  advice,  speculation  and 
encouragement  from  one  to  the  other  of 
us.  The  horses  traveled  doggedly,  as 
tired  horses  will,  their  heads  swinging. 

Finally  we  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
slope.  A  rush  of  white  waters  opposed 
us,  but  we  plunged  in  without  much  at- 
tempt to  find  a  ford,  and  emerged  drip- 
ping on  the  other  side. 

Billy  was  awaiting  us,  together  with 
the  dogs,  now  utterly  crushed  under  the 
sudden  realization  that  it  was  dark,  an 

95 


THE   PASS 

neither  fire  nor  supper  was  forthcoming. 
They  were  beginning  to  regret  certain 
scorned  mush  of  happier  days. 

An  almost  invincible  disbelief  in  the 
possibility  of  comfort  overcame  us.  Mo- 
tion seemed  rather  to  bring  to  acuter  real- 
ization our  chilly  state  than  to  start  our 
blood  to  circulation.  It  required  faith, 
faith  deep  and  real,  to  force  us  to  the 
unpacking,  to  the  necessary  search  for 
fuel,  to  the  patient  labor  of  ignition. 

The  horses  wandered  rather  dispirit- 
edly away  in  search  of  the  scanty  short- 
hair  grass  of  this  altitude.  After  much 
chopping  for  the  heart  of  the  firewood, 
we  managed  to  start  a  little  blaze.  It 
grew,  and  we  gathered  close.  After  a 
time  we  began  to  feel  a  trifle  less  numb. 
One  of  us  summoned  courage  to  explore 
among  stiff  and  wet  canvases  in  search 
of  the  grub  bags  and  the  utensils.  We 
began  on  hot  tea,  and  then  plucked  up 
96 


CT» 


WE   FALL   BACK 

heart  for  the  trouble  of  slicing  bacon,  and 
so  on  gradually  to  a  full  and  satisfactory 
meal.  Tuxana  and  Pepper  huddled  close 
and  shivered  violently  in  the  effort  to 
throw  off  the  chill.  Pepper  curled  up  in 
a  ball;  but  Tuxana  sat  on  her  tail,  both 
hind  feet  pathetically  and  ludicrously  off 
the  ground,  blinking  her  bull-terrier  pink- 
rimmed  eyes.  We  felt  recovered  enough 
by  now  to  laugh  at  her. 

Then  slowly  it  became  borne  in  on  our 
now  torpid  faculties  that  something  yet 
remained  to  be  done.  Not  the  dishes — 
no,  indeed — they  must  wait  for  the  morn- 
ing. But  out  of  the  cold,  wet  blackness 
beyond  the  firelight  we  had  to  conjure 
sleeping  places.  The  task  was  not  in  it- 
self great;  but  it  had  on  top  of  it  the 
weight  of  a  long,  hard  day. 

Reluctantly  we  lit  the  little  candle- 
lantern  and  looked  about.  It  was  a  case 
of  hard  rock  that  night,  for  every  depres- 
97 


THE   PASS 

sion  of  shale  was  soggy  with  water,  and 
boughs  there  were  none  at  all.  So  Billy 
and  I  spread  our  tarpaulin  and  the  quilt 
to  soften  things  a  trifle,  and  the  gray 
army  blanket,  and  crawled  in  shivering. 
Poor  old  Tuxana,  wet  as  a  fish,  begged 
hard ;  but  the  best  we  could  do  for  her  was 
a  saddle  blanket.  Into  this  she  retired 
utterly.  Pepper,  with  the  combined  in- 
consequence of  youth,  reliance  on  a  thick 
wire  coat,  and  personal  imbecility  of  dis- 
position, declined  to  remain  covered,  so 
we  left  her  to  her  own  devices  by  the 
spluttering  fire. 

We  shivered  for  awhile,  then  the  ani- 
mal heat  accumulated  sufficiently  beneath 
our  coverings,  and  we  fell  deeply  asleep. 
About  two  o'clock  I  awoke,  the  side  of 
me  next  the  rock  feeling  as  though  it  were 
flattened  out,  like  meat  that  has  been  in 
a  refrigerator.  My  nose  was  as  cold  as 
a  dog's.  Overhead  light  clouds  were  hur- 
98 


WE    FALL   BACK 

rying  by.  Through  them  shone  some  very 
pale  and  chilly  stars. 

The  next  morning  we  arose  rather  later 
than  usual.  It  had  cleared  somewhat,  but 
the  air  was  bitterly  cold.  After  breakfast 
we  assembled  about  a  recklessly  large  fire 
and  discussed  what  was  next  to  be  done. 

The  decision  made — I  forget  what  it 
was — we  caught  up  the  horses.  Then  it 
became  evident  that  fate  had  taken  mat- 
ters out  of  our  hands,  for  Jenny's  legs,  by 
daylight,  proved  to  be  more  cut  than  we 
had  supposed.  They  had  already  swollen. 
We  could  guess  without  much  effort  that 
Jenny  would  be  unfit  to  travel  for  at 
least  ten  days.  So  we  put  my  riding  sad- 
dle on  the  cripple,  transferred  her  pack 
to  Coco,  and  Billy  to  my  own  horse, 
Bullet. 

"I  will  climb  the  ridge  again,"  said  I, 
"and  look  for  a  route  over  from  the  other 
canon.  You  can  make  camp  at  the 
99 


THE   PASS 

meadow  where  the  two  canons  come  to- 
gether, and  I  will  join  you  about  dark." 

They  filed  way,  and  once  more  I  ad- 
dressed myself  to  the  ascent. 

In  climbing  a  mountain  at  a  high  eleva- 
tion you  start  out  comfortably  enough. 
The  first  symptom  of  trouble  is  a  short- 
ening of  your  breath,  the  next  a  violent 
pounding  of  your  heart ;  then  come  sensa- 
tions of  heavy  weights  attached  to  your 
feet,  ringings  of  your  ears,  blurring  of 
your  eyes,  perhaps  a  slight  giddiness.  It 
is  now  time  to  stop.  After  a  moment  the 
landscape  steadies,  the  symptoms  subside. 
You  are  ready  for  another  little  spurt. 
The  moment  you  stop,  or  strike  level 
ground,  you  are  all  right ;  but  at  the  high- 
est elevations,  even  a  slight  incline  or  a 
light  burden  will  bring  you  immediate 
distress.  At  just  what  elevation  this  dis- 
tress becomes  acute  depends  on  your  in- 
dividual make-up.  Some  people  cannot 
100 


The  way  was  very  rough. 


WE    FALL   BACK 

stand  even  six  or  seven  thousand  feet. 
Billy  is  fit  for  navigation  up  to  about  thir- 
teen thousand.  Beyond  that  point  she  is 
subject  to  a  seizure  that  stiffens  her  out 
as  though  by  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  Snow 
on  the  forehead  brings  her  around  all 
right,  and  luckily  snow  is  abundant  that 
high.  I  personally  have  never  been  be- 
yond fifteen  thousand  feet;  but  that  al- 
titude, though  rendering  rapid  exertion 
extremely  laborious,  did  not  affect  me 
painfully. 

An  hour  brought  me  to  the  snow.  I 
could  see  very  well  how  to  get  up  through 
a  chimney  were  it  not  for  that  snow.  But 
in  present  conditions  the  case  was  abso- 
lutely hopeless.  The  slant  was  such  that 
even  in  soft  footing  a  horse  would  have 
difficulty  to  keep  from  falling,  but  now 
the  substratum  of  ice  made  the  passage 
absolutely  impossible.  In  addition,  the 
snow  itself  lay  in  sharp  edges  and  cups 
101 


THE   PASS 

several  feet  deep,  like  a  gigantic  muffin 
mold  of  innumerable  hollows.  One  had 
either  to  attempt  the  knife  edges  of  the 
partitions,  or  to  climb  laboriously  in  and 
out  of  the  hollows.  Generally  the  result 
turned  out  to  be  a  disconcerting  compro- 
mise between  the  two. 

However,  another  twenty  minutes' 
hard  work  took  me  to  the  top.  There  I 
quickly  traversed  the  T  where  the  two 
canons  headed  against  the  ridge,  and 
stood  once  more  looking  out  over  Dead- 
man's  Canon. 

The  great  black  masses  of  the  Kaweah 
Group  were  blacker  still  with  a  formida- 
ble thunder  storm  slowly  gathering  about 
its  peaks.  So  sinister,  gloomy  and  for- 
bidding did  the  canons  and  crevices  be- 
come as  the  light  was  blotted  from  their 
glittering  snows  and  rocks  that  I  could 
not  rid  myself  of  the  notion  that  the  very 
essence  of  the  world  was  undergoing  the 
102 


WE   FALL   BACK 

transformation  of  some  catastrophe.  It 
had  started  yonder,  under  those  black 
peaks.  It  was  spreading,  as  spilled  water 
spreads.  Shortly  it  would  kill  that  broad, 
smiling  sunny  meadow  far  beneath.  Then 
it  would  creep  up  the  slope  below.  Then 
it  would  swallow  me. 

A  peal  of  thunder  seemed  to  tear  apart 
the  stillness  with  the  voice  of  a  command. 
One  after  another  the  mountains  echoed 
back  the  submissive  response,  as  though 
reporting  themselves  at  their  posts  for  the 
sinister  change  that  was  to  befall  them. 
I  thought  to  hear  a  faint  and  distant  roar- 
ing. A  gray  veil  suddenly  shut  out  the 
peaks. 

This  seemed  to  break  the  spell  of  por- 
tent. I  noted  that  the  air  currents  and 
the  configuration  of  the  mountains  were 
likely  to  carry  the  storm  eastward,  and  so 
set  to  work. 

I  scouted  until  I  found,  about  fifteen 
103 


THE   PASS 

hundred  feet  down,  some  stunted  trees 
and  feed.  Then  I  worked  out  a  route  to 
them.  Then  I  built  as  much  trail  as  was 
necessary.  This  took  me  a  long  time. 
Whether  we  should  be  able  to  do  the  other 
fifteen  hundred  feet  down  to  the  green 
meadow  and  the  round  lake  did  not  mat- 
ter for  the  present.  It  was  enough  if  we 
could  penetrate  so  far  into  the  enemy's 
country,  sure  of  sustenance  and  a  space 
for  the  soles  of  our  feet.  While  engaged 
at  this  work  I  came  across  a  big  drift  of 
pink  snow.  Pink  snow  is  a  little  hard  to 
believe  in,  but  it  exists.  I  understand  that 
the  tint  comes  from  the  pollen  of  some 
flower.  The  fact  remains  that  the  very 
substance  of  the  snow  is  pink,  decidedly 
pink,  like  pink  cotton ;  and  when  you  step 
on  it,  it  crushes  into  an  appearance  of  pale 
blood.  When  I  first  saw  it  far  above  me, 
on  the  slope  of  a  mountain,  I  thought  I 
must  have  chanced  on  some  anachronistic 
104 


WE   FALL   BACK 

glow  that  had  happened  around  too  late 
for  sunrise  or  too  early  for  sunset. 

By  seven  o'clock  I  had  reached  the 
forks  of  the  canons.  The  thunder  shower 
had  increased  to  a  cloud  burst,  and  the 
cloud  burst  had  overtaken  the  pack  train. 
So  violently  had  the  water  beaten  down 
that  the  horses  refused  to  proceed.  They 
ran  their  heads  into  thick  spruce  trees  and 
declined  to  budge.  Billy  and  Wes  had 
to  sit  there  and  take  it.  Billy  thought  it 
great  fun;  but,  as  Wes  pointed  out,  she 
owned  a  poncho.  Wes  did  not,  but  re- 
tained a  semblance  of  triumphant  good 
humor  because  by  some  mysterious  meth- 
od of  his  own  he  had  kept  his  tobacco  and 
cigarette  papers  dry. 

The  ground  was  soaked,  and  miniature 
gullies  had  worked  down  through  the  pine 
needles.  We  built  a  big  fire,  turned  out 
the  horses  and  so  once  more  slept  with  the 
great  and  complex  voice  of  the  river. 
105 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 


VIII 

THE    PERMANENT    CAMP 

AFTER  far  wandering  a  permanent 
camp  is  a  great  refreshment  to  the  spirit. 

You  start  in  animated  by  the  utmost 
vigor.  There  are  so  many  things  to  be 
done,  and  they  all  occur  to  your  mind  at 
once.  After  breakfast  you  seize  the  axe 
and  take  to  the  brush.  The  search  for 
straight  saplings  forking  at  required 
heights  becomes  absorbing.  You  cut 
them  and  drag  them  to  camp  and  stick 
them  in  their  appointed  places.  There  is 
an  amplitude  to  these  preparations  in  de- 
licious contrast  to  the  direct  utilitarianism 
of  your  camp-making  while  on  trail.  So 
must  have  felt  the  founder  of  Cologne 
Cathedral,  his  soul  big  and  tranquil  with 
109 


THE   PASS 

the  thought  of  the  three  hundred  years  of 
building  that  were  to  follow.  You  make 
a  shelter  and  a  bed.  The  former  is  beau- 
tiful and  permanent;  we  put  up  the  little 
balloon  silk  tent,  which  heretofore  had 
been  used  only  as  a  pack  cloth.  The  bed 
you  arrange  carefully,  smoothing  the 
ground  with  the  back  of  the  axe  swung 
adze-wise  between  your  legs,  laying  par- 
allel two  generous  lengths  of  logs  well 
pegged  to  prevent  rolling,  filling  between 
them  first  with  dry  pine  needles,  then  with 
balsam  fans  thatched  carefully  springy 
side  up.  It  is  fun  to  cut  balsam.  The 
thicket  is  warm  with  the  radiation  of  sun 
from  fragrant  piney  things.  You  clip 
and  clip  away  with  the  hatchet,  bathed 
in  tepid  odors  and  buzzy  sounds.  It  is 
a  leisurely  occupation  that  you  cannot 
hurry,  and  so  you  lapse  gladly  into  that 
half -dreamy  state  to  be  acquired  only  in 

/the  woods,  wherein  the  golden  afternoon 
i  in 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

seems  to  comprise  several  eternities.  Then 
you  return  to  camp,  and  begin  feverishly 
the  construction  of  a  table. 

It  is  a  very  ingenious  table,  supported 
by  three  saplings  suspended  between  two 
trees.  Across  them  you  lay  wands,  and 
over  the  wands  you  spread  your  oilcloth. 
The  bench  you  make  of  hewn  logs  (be 
sure  they  are  dry,  otherwise  you  may  stick 
to  your  seat),  supported  on  cross-pieces 
between  forked  branches  driven  into  the 
ground.  You  place  your  eating  utensils, 
and  feel  the  creator's  joy. 

Then  remain  a  dozen  other  affairs.  The 
fireplace  is  elaborate;  the  saddles  are  con- 
ceded a  rack.  And  you  make  a  woodpile. 

Ordinarily,  while  traveling,  you  cook 
with  what  you  can  pick  up,  or  chop  in 
two  by  a  stroke  or  so  of  the  axe.  Now 
you  cut  the  nearest  pine  logs  into  length 
and  lug  these  lengths  into  camp  on  your 
shoulders,  staggering  uncertainly.  And 
111 


THE   PASS 

then  you  hit  with  your  axe  a  mighty 
whack  lengthwise,  and  insert  a  wedge 
of  hard  wood  in  the  crack  thus  made, 
and  beat  the  wedge  in  until  it  is  buried, 
and  then  insert  another  wedge  lower 
down,  until  at  last  the  log  splits  in  two 
with  a  great  tearing  of  wood  fibers. 
Whereupon  you  attack  the  halves  in  like 
manner,  and  then  the  quarters,  until  in 
the  final  result  you  are  possessed  of  a 
number  of  slender  split  posts.  You  lay 
one  of  these  posts  over  your  chopping  log. 
A  full  swing  of  the  axe  bites  deep  and 
slanting.  You  reverse  the  blade  and 
whack  mightily  on  the  end.  The  slender 
post  breaks  at  the  point  of  the  axe  cut, 
and  at  last  you  lay  aside  with  pride  the 
first  stick  of  firewood. 

There  is  a  joy  in  the  clean,  accurate 
labor — a  pleasure  in  stretching  your  mus- 
cles.    And   the   gleaming   yellow   piles 
grow  almost  like  magic. 
112 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

By  now  you  are  fully  in  the  vein.  You 
are  tired ;  but  you  do  not  know  enough  to 
feel  so.  A  score  of  desirable  little  tasks 
crowd  on  your  intention.  You  will  put 
up  shelves,  and  make  a  meat  safe,  and 
sweep  the  forest  floor,  and  dig  a  garbage 
pit,  and  rope  in  the  camp,  and 

"Look  here!"  complains  your  com- 
panion, "don't  you  think  we'd  better  call 
this  a  day?  I'm  hungry!" 

You  glance  up  with  surprise.  The 
pines  are  silhouetting  against  the  west. 
Shadows  are  half -tree  high  already,  and 
the  coolness  of  evening  is  creeping  very 
cautiously,  very  slowly  down  through  the 
lowest  thickets.  The  sparrows  and  viros 
seem  to  have  fallen  silent.  A  pensive 
melody  of  thrushes  steals  in  and  out  of 
the  forest  aisles. 

You  straighten  your  back,  and  sud- 
denly feel  very  tired.  The  day  is  indeed 
done. 

113 


THE    PASS 

And  next  morning  very  early  you 
awaken  and  look  straight  up  at  the  sky. 
The  pine  tops  touch  it  shyly — you  could 
almost  imagine  that  gently  swaying  in 
the  wind  they  had  brushed  the  stars  away. 
A  great  singing  of  birds  fills  the  air.  So 
innumerable  are  the  performers  that  it  is 
difficult  to  distinguish  the  individuals. 
The  result  might  be  called  a  tremendous 
and  composite  chattering.  Only  here  the 
tone  of  the  chattering  is  supremely  mu- 
sical, so  that  the  forest  seems  to  be  echoing 
to  the  voice  of  some  single  melodious 
creature. 

Near  by  a  squirrel,  like  a  fussy  little  old 
gentleman,  jerks  about  nervously. 

"Dear,  dear!"  says  he.  "Look  at  those 
people!  Look  at  those  people!" 

After  he  has  repeated  this  a  few  score 
of  times  he  fusses  away,  probably  to  re- 
port to  the  proper  officers  that  he  must 
object,  he  really  must  object  to  such  per- 
114 


: 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

sons  being  admitted  to  his  club.  The  sun 
strikes  through  the  woods  and  glorifies  a 
dogwood  just  to  the  left  of  its  direct  line 
of  illumination.  The  light  partly  reflects 
from,  partly  shines  through  the  delicate 
leaves,  until  the  whole  bush  becomes 
ethereal,  a  gently  glowing  soul  of  itself. 
You  stretch  luxuriously,  and  extend  your 
legs,  and  an  unwonted  feeling  of  satisfac- 
tion steals  over  you.  You  wonder  why. 
The  reason  comes  in  due  time.  It  is  this : 
a  whole  glorious  woodland  day  lies  before 
you,  and  in  it  is  no  question  of  pack  rope, 
horse  or  trail.  You  can  do  just  exactly 
as  much  or  as  little  as  you  please. 

Probably  you  elect  to  putter  around 
camp.  There  are  innumerable  things  to 
do,  and  you  can  have  fun  at  any  one  of 
them.  To  sit  straddle  a  log,  tinkering 
away  at  a  new  latigo  for  your  saddle  is 
joy,  especially  if  you  can  look  up  every 
now  and  then  to  a  very  blue  sky  not 
115 


THE   PASS 

much  beyond  very  tall  trees.  Little  items 
of  repair  have  long  been  awaiting  this 
leisure.  Also  there  is  laundry,  with  a  glo- 
rious chance  to  wash  everything  washable, 
even  down  to  the  long-suff  ering  dish  rag. 
I  should  advise  one  of  the  cold-water 
soaps,  as  it  is  difficult  to  scare  up  anything 
big  enough  to  boil  clothes  in. 

And  if  you  are  fond  of  cooking,  now 
is  your  chance  to  indulge  in  the  most  as- 
tounding culinary  orgies.  Simple  pud- 
dings, cakes,  and  other  bakings  are  quite 
within  the  reach  of  the  ingenious  camp 
cook:  there  is  necessary  only  the  widest 
possible  interpretation  of  receipts,  and  the 
completest  audacity  in  substitution.  If 
you  have  no  eggs,  why,  never  mind.  Per- 
haps dried  prunes  will  do.  Try  it,  any- 
way. I  once  made  a  very  good  pudding 
out  of  the  remains  of  boiled  macaroni, 
some  cold  cornmeal  mush,  sugar,  cinna- 
mon and  raisins.  This  when  baked 
116 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

through,  and  well  browned  atop  proved 
to  be  marvelously  popular.  I  admit  it 
does  not  sound  very  good. 

The  cooking  zeal  is  cumulative.  There 
comes  a  day  when  you  cook  from  morn- 
ing until  evening,  and  then  triumphantly 
announce  a  feast.  If  you  possess  real  en- 
thusiasm, you  get  up  menus  and  table 
decorations.  Here  is  one  we  gave  at  Lake 
Charlotte,  eleven  thousand  feet  up,  in 
honor  of  the  birthday  of  our  old  friend 
Spoopendyke.  Your  true  celebrant  in  the 
woods  always  makes  his  feast  an  occasion, 
even  if  he  has  to  invent  one. 

Clam  Soup  a  la  Dieu  Suit  Quoi 
Fried  Trout  a  la  Lac  Charlotte 

Bacon  a  VAxlegrease 
Scrambled  Eggs  a  la  Tin  Can 

Bread  Corn  Bread  Biscuits 

Vegetables  a  I'Abercrombie 

Boiled  Potatoes  Baked  Beans 

Rice  Pudding  Strawberries  Spice  Cake 

Nuts  Raisins 

117 


THE   PASS 

On  the  reverse  came  the 

Wine   List 

Tea       ...  In  the  Large  Pot 

Coffee  In  the  Small  Pot 

Cocoa    .  .       Make  it  Yourself,  Darn  You 

Water         .  .                    Go  to  the  Spring 

Lemonade  .           .         In  the  Small  Bottle 

Whiskey     .  .     Drink,  $10;  Smell,  2 5c. 

Cigars  Pipes              Cigarettes 

After  a  brilliant  climax  of  this  sort, 
you  generally  settle  back  to  a  more  lei- 
surely gait.  Other  things  engage  your 
attention.  You  hunt,  you  fish,  you  ex- 
plore the  immediately  surrounding  coun- 
try. 

And  then  little  by  little  you  run  down, 
like  a  clock  that  has  not  been  wound. 
There  is  plenty  of  venison  in  camp;  fish- 
ing palls.  You  lie  around  during  endless 
golden  hours,  shifting  with  the  sun, 
watching  the  rainbow  colors  in  your  eye- 
lashes, soaking  in  comfort  and  rest  as 
thirsty  ground  takes  up  water.  In  the 
118 


THE   PERMANENT    CAMP 

evening  you  swap  yarns  and  hold  aca- 
demic discussions  around  the  campfire. 
If  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  you  have 
to  chop  wood  for  that  campfire  you  could 
take  root  and  your  brains  would  turn  out 
budding  little  green  branches.  The  aca- 
demic discussions  are  lazily  delivered,  and 
irresponsible,  oh,  utterly  irresponsible! 
The  ordinary  rules  of  coherency  and 
probability  are  quite  relaxed.  You  hear 
the  most  extraordinary  stories,  and  still 
more  extraordinary  theories. 

"I  remember  when  I  was  foreman  of  a 
construction  gang  in  the  mountains  north 
of  here,  the  company  used  to  buy  con- 
demned army  supplies.  For  awhile  they 
ran  short  of  lubricating  oil,  so  they  used 
to  pack  the  axle  boxes  of  the  cars  with 
slices  of  salt  pork;  it  worked  fine. 

"Well,  I  used  to  pride  myself  on  run- 
ning a  mighty  nifty  camp,  then,  and  I 

had  a  Chink  that  could  put  up  a  real  feed. 
119 


THE   PASS 

One  day  old  Harrington  himself  dropped 
off  on  me  with  some  of  his  city  friends,  so 
as  soon  as  I  could  break  away  I  hiked 
over  to  the  cook  shack. 

'  'Sing  Hop,'  says  I,  'old  man  come. 
Rustle  plenty  good  chop,  poco  pronto.' 

"  'No  hab  got  meat,'  says  Sing  Hop. 
'Him  no  come.' 

"Well,  that  looked  bad  for  the  reputa- 
tion of  my  camp,  now  didn't  it?  Then 
an  idea  came  to  me.  I  sneaked  around  the 
other  side  of  the  train,  opened  one  of  the 
axle  boxes  and  took  out  a  dozen  slices  of 
the  condemned  pork  they  had  packed  in 
there  for  lubricating.  Old  Harrington 
said  he'd  never  eaten  better  meat." 

You  exclaim,  politely,  a  little  doubt- 
fully. The  old  sinner  presses  down  the 
tobacco  in  his  pipe  and  cocks  his  eye  at 
you. 

"The  joke  of  it  was,"  says  he,  "that 
Sing  Hop  never  had  to  touch  that  meat. 
120 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

9 

The  friction-heat  of  the  axles  had  cooked 
it  just  right." 

"You'll  never  go  to  heaven,"  murmurs 
some  one,  kicking  the  fire.  A  column  of 
sparks  startles  the  shadows  into  momen- 
tary flight. 

"Speaking  of  heaven,"  continues  the 
sinner  cheerfully,  "did  you  ever  hear  of 
the  two  old  Arizonians  who  met  for  the 
first  time  in  ten  years?  Of  course,  they 
had  to  celebrate.  By  and  by  they  got  to 
the  tearful  stage  of  the  game,  and  began 
to  mourn  the  absence  of  Jim.  Jim  had 
been  dead  fifteen  years.  That  didn't 
make  any  difference,  however. 

"  'It  jes'  spoils  thish  evenin'  that  Jim 
ain't  yere,'  sobbed  one.  'How  dear  ol* 
Jim  would  have  enjoyed  this  evenin'!' ' 

They  mourned  awhile  in  hopeless 
gloom,  and  then  one  saw  a  little  glimmer 
of  light  in  the  situation. 

"  'Nev'  mind !'  said  he,  brightening  up, 
121 


THE   PASS 

'when  I  die  an'  go  to  heaven,  I'll  tell  dear 
oF  Jim  about  thish  evenin'!' 

"  'Yes,'  said  the  other  earnestly,  'but 
s'pose  dear  oF  Jim  didn't  go  to  heaven?' 

:  'Then/  replied  the  first  quite  un- 
alarmed,  'then  you  tell  him!' ' 

Every  one  smokes  and  stares  into  the 
heart  of  the  fire.  A  glowing  log  crumples 
at  the  middle,  and  sinks  to  coals.  The 
flames  die  to  blues  and  lucent  pale-greens. 
In  the  partial  re-establishment  of  dark- 
ness the  stars  look  down  between  the  trees. 

"I  wonder,"  says  some  one,  dreamily, 
"what  will  be  the  first  message  flashed 
from  those  other  worlds  when  at  last  com- 
munication is  established;  what  bit  of  in- 
formation out  of  all  our  boundless  curi- 
osity we  will  ask  for?  Will  we  hit  for  the 
fundamentals?  Will  we  inquire,  'Do  you 
die,  up  there?  do  you  hope?  do  you  fear? 
do  you  love?' " 

'Probably  some  trust  will  get  hold  of 
122 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

it,  and  the  first  message  will  be:  'Use 
Broggins'  Tongue  Titillators,  the  best 
Bon-Bon, '  "  replied  the  brutal  member. 

"Well,  after  all,  it  won't  matter,"  in- 
sists the  idealist  unabashed.  "The  impor- 
tant thing  will  not  be  the  message,  but  the 
fact  that  it  is  the  first  message." 

A  tentative  chilly  little  night  wind  ven- 
tures across  the  dying  fire.  The  incan- 
descent coals,  with  their  halls  and  gal- 
leries magnificent,  sink  together  with  a 
faint  sound.  In  a  moment  they  begin  to 
film  over.  The  features  of  your  com- 
panions grow  indistinct.  Outside  noises 
come  more  clearly  to  your  attention,  for 
strangely  enough  the  mere  fact  of  fire- 
light seems  to  hold  at  a  distance  not  only 
the  darkness  but  the  sounds  that  people  it. 
The  rush  of  waters,  the  sighing  of  winds, 
the  distant  mournful  owl-notes,  or  sleepy 
single  chirp  of  some  momentarily  awak- 
ened day-bird — these  come  closer  with  the 
123 


THE   PASS 

reassured  shadows  creeping  down  to 
pounce  on  the  dying  fire. 

In  the  group  some  one  raps  a  pipe 
sharply  twice.  Some  one  else  stretches 
and  sighs.  The  stir  of  leaves  tells  of  re- 
luctant risings. 

"Time  to  turn  in,  boys;  good-night," 
says  one. 

In  a  moment  you  and  the  faint  glow  in 
the  ashes  are  left  alone  together. 

We  made  a  good  camp  under  tall  trees. 
Then  we  produced  the  flour  sack  contain- 
ing our  much-read  "library";  destroyed 
arrears  in  the  laundry  business;  shaved 
elaborately,  and  so  prepared  ourselves  for 
a  good  time. 

First  of  all  we  were  hungry  for  fresh 
meat,  so  Wes  and  I  rode  down  the  river 
to  get  a  deer.  We  tied  the  horses  at  the 
edge  of  the  snow-brush,  made  our  way  la- 
boriously up  to  the  castellated  tops  of  the 
ridges  where  the  bucks  lie  to  harden  their 
124 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

antlers,  and  crept  along,  slowly  looking 
with  all  our  eyes.  The  early  morning  was 
too  much  of  an  effort  after  our  hard  work 
of  the  past  few  weeks,  so  now  the  time 
was  late  afternoon.  In  the  before-even- 
ing coolness  our  game  should  be  afoot, 
stepping  daintily  in  and  out  among  the 
manzanita  and  snow-brush,  nipping  a 
mouthful  here  and  there,  pausing  at  every 
step  or  so  to  look  watchfully  about  over 
the  landscape.  Pepper  and  Tuxana, 
chipmunks  scornfully  forgotten,  trailed 
along  at  our  heels.  They  understood  per- 
fectly that  important  affairs  were  for- 
ward, and  stepped  with  almost  the  over- 
elaborate  caution  of  a  schoolboy  on  the 
stalk  for  imaginary  Indians. 

The  signs  were  numerous.  Tracks 
crossed  and  recrossed  the  ridge,  all  of 
them  round  and  full  buck-tracks.  The 
more  pointed  doe  footprints  would  be 
found  at  a  lower  elevation,  where,  in  the 
125 


THE   PASS 

shelter  of  denser  growth,  they  would  be 
taking  care  of  their  fawns.  After  an 
hour  Wes,  who  for  the  moment  was  in 
the  lead,  stopped  short  and  began  cau- 
tiously to  level  his  rifle.  I  stepped  to  one 
side  and  looked.  About  a  hundred  yards 
away,  above  the  brush,  I  could  just  make 
out  two  spike  horns  and  a  pair  of  ears 
pointed  inquiringly  in  our  direction.  The 
horns  looked  not  unlike  the  branches  of 
dead  manzanita,  and  the  ears  blended  with 
the  foliage  in  that  strange  semi-transpar- 
ent manner  possessed  alike  by  wild  crea- 
tures and  woodland  shadows.  Tuxana 
and  Pepper  quivered.  A  tense  stillness 
seemed  all  at  once  to  grip  fast  the  uni- 
verse, a  stillness  which  would  require  a 
mighty  effort  to  break. 

"Bang!"  spoke  old  Meat-in-the-Pot. 

A  swift  compact  cloud  of  dust  immedi- 
ately sprang  up  from  the  spot  where  the 
deer  had  stood.  A  thousand  echoes  rever- 
126 


berated  from  cliff  to  forest  and  back 
again.  The  necessity  for  caution,  for 
silence,  for  slow  and  deliberate  motion 
seemed  instantaneously  to  have  broken 
into  these  flying  fragments  of  sound.  I 
sprang  to  the  top  of  a  boulder,  Pepper 
uttered  a  single  excited  yap,  Wes  spoke 
aloud. 

"Missed,  by  thunder!"  said  he. 

In  the  tones  of  Wes'  voice  was  deep 
disgust.  Wes  is  an  excellent  rifle  shot, 
and  rarely  misses. 

I  could  see  the  bushes  swing  with  the 
deer's  progress  down  hill,  and  occasion- 
ally I  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  his 
high,  springing  jumps.  Evidently  he  in- 
tended half  circling  the  hill.  Almost 
could  I  get  enough  of  a  sight  to  shoot, 
and  the  expectation  constantly  recurring, 
and  as  constantly  frustrated,  set  me  in  an 

agony  of  desire  to  take  the  cause  of  events 

. 

into  my  own  hands,  to  shift  and  adjust 

127 


THE    PASS 

them  and  order  them.  Wes,  screened  in 
by  thick  brush,  was  grumbling  away  be- 
hind me. 

"He  was  lying  down,"  he  growled, 
"and  I  under  shot.  He  was  lying  down ; 
if  I'd  had  any  sense  at  all,  I  could  'a  seen 
that  with  my  mouth !" 

Unexpectedly  matters  adjusted  them- 
selves. The  deer,  abandoning  his  first  in- 
tention, turned  sharp  to  the  right  through 
an  open  space.  I  tried  to  aim  so  that  the 
bullet  would  catch  him  as  he  struck  the 
ground  at  the  finish  of  one  of  his  buck 
jumps — really  the  only  way  to  hit  a  run- 
ning deer.  At  the  shot  he  went  down  in 
a  cloud  of  dust. 

"I  got  him!"  I  yelled. 

But  the  deer  seemed  only  momentarily 
stunned,  for  he  was  almost  instantly 
afoot,  and  off  again  with  apparently  as 
much  vigor  as  ever.  Afterward  we  found 
that  my  bullet  had  gone  through  the 
128 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

shoulder  without  either  breaking  the  bone 
or  entering  the  body  cavity. 

At  this  point  Tuxana  appeared,  made 
a  flying  leap  at  the  deer's  throat ;  missed, 
but  tried  the  next  best  that  offered  it- 
self. In  this  case  the  next  best  happened 
to  be  the  deer's  tail.  That  she  did  not 
miss. 

It  was  much  better  than  gunny  sacks. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  in  the  brief  moment 
during  which  Tuxana  remained  on  terra 
firma,  and  while  her  mental  processes 
were  still  unconfused,  a  great  illumina- 
tion came  to  her  of  many  things  hereto- 
fore mysterious — of  the  reason  for  gunny 
sacks,  and  why  dogs  delight  to  swing 
from  them,  and  how  they  are  intended  in 
the  scheme  of  things  as  a  training  and  a 
preparation  for  such  crises  of  life  as  this. 
And  so  Tuxana  sailed  away,  hitting  the 
scenery  on  an  average  of  once  every  hun- 

i  T        /»  .  mi  1  •       -r  v »     l  /I  ml  • 

&"  TK 


****$ 

dred  feet.    The  last  I  saw  of  her  for  that 


129 


THE    PASS 

moment  was  as  the  deer  jumped  a  log. 
Her  four  feet  were  rigidly  extended  in 
four  different  directions,  uncertain  as  to 
which  one  would  alight  first,  and  how. 
And  in  her  soul  I  knew  there  was  deep 


We  followed  the  trail  for  a  quarter  of 
a  mile.  Then  we  came  to  a  stream  flow- 
ing among  boulders.  In  the  middle  of 
the  stream  and  half  over  a  miniature  fall 
lay  the  deer.  Firmly  attached  to  its  tail 
was  Tuxana,  the  bull  dog,  her  sturdy  legs 
braced  back  to  hold  the  great  weight 
against  the  current,  her  jaws  clamped, 
the  water  pouring  over  her  flanks.  When 
we  approached  she  rolled  her  little  pink- 
rimmed  eyes  at  us.  In  them  we  read  sat- 
isfaction with  the  condition  of  affairs. 
She  gave  no  other  sign. 

We  put  a  bullet  through  the  deer's 
head,  hauled  him — and  Tuxana — ashore, 
and  set  about  the  job  of  preparing  him 
130 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 


for  transportation.  Tuxana  let  go  with 
reluctance.  It  was  the  culminating  mo- 
ment of  her  emotional  existence.  She 
held  herself  ready  to  give  any  further  as- 
sistance that  might  be  needed. 

The  mountain  deer  is  not  large,  and 
this  was  only  a  spike  buck.  We  cleaned 
him,  cut  off  his  head  and  hocks,  and  tied 
each  hind  leg  to  its  opposite  foreleg. 
Thus  he  resembled  a  rather  bulky  knap- 
sack, with  loops  through  which  to  thrust 
the  arms.  We  fed  the  "lights"  to  the 
appreciative  dogs,  and  then  carried  the 
venison  to  the  horses. 

The  meat  supply  thus  assured,  we  felt 
privileged  to  loaf  a  bit.  About  four  of 
the  afternoon  we  used  to  start  out  fishing. 
Roaring  River  is  not  particularly  well 
stocked,  but  we  could  get  a  mess,  and  it 
was  extremely  pleasant  to  make  our  way 
through  the  thickets,  over  and  around  the 
rocky  points  where  the  bluffs  came  down, 
131 


THE   PASS 

to  the  one  little  spot  where  the  rushing 
white  water  paused  behind  the  boulder. 
Trout  fishing  anywhere  is  one  of  the  best 
of  sports.  Trout  fishing  in  the  mountains 
is  superlative.  The  forest  trees,  the  sheets 
of  granite,  the  rush  and  boil  of  the  water, 
the  innumerable  busy  bird  voices,  the  cool 
high  air,  all  seem  to  fill  the  immediate 
world  with  movement  and  bustle;  yet  you 
have  but  to  raise  your  eyes  to  be  calmed  by 
the  great  snow  peaks  lying  serene  beneath 
the  intense  blue  skies  of  the  higher  alti- 
tudes. And  then  quite  early  in  the  after- 
noon the  shadows  begin  to  climb  the 
easterly  wall;  and  as  they  do  so  the 
upper  peaks  become  ethereal,  until  at 
the  last,  after  your  own  little  world  has 
fallen  to  twilight,  they  glow  and  palpi- 
tate with  a  pulsating  soap-bubble  irides- 
cence. 

One  day  it  happened  that  we  killed  two 
rattlesnakes,  which  was  quite  extraordi- 
132 


The  sir-shooter  terminated  the  argument  with  the  rattlesnake 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

nary  so  high  in  the  mountains.  The 
campfire  talk  that  evening  centered  on 
the  reptiles.  We  swapped  the  usual  yarns 
and  experiences;  indulged  in  the  custom- 
ary argument  as  to  remedies.  Wes  told 
of  the  chicken  which  when  killed,  split, 
and  tied  fresh  to  the  wound  clung  there 
valiantly  for  two  hours,  and  then,  "black 
as  your  hat,  sir!"  fell  off  of  its  own  ac- 
cord. Billy  and  I  agreed  that  this  was 
marvelous.  Wes  likewise  gave  as  his  dis- 
illusioned opinion  that  whiskey  is  not  effi- 
cacious. Why?  Well,  he  knew  of  a  man 
who,  while  very  drunk,  was  bitten,  and 
who  forthwith  died.  And,  of  course,  in 
this  case  the  whiskey  had  a  head  start  on 
the  poison. 

"Wes,"  said  I,  "did  you  ever  know,  in 
your  experience,  of  a  man  dying  from 
snake  bite?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  he. 

"Tell  me  about  it." 
133 


THE   PASS 

"Well,"  he  began,  "a  friend  of  Jim 
Brown's,  down  in  Tulare  County,  was  bit, 
and  Jim  told  me " 

And  that  is  about  the  usual  answer  to 
such  question.  During  a  fairly  extended 
experience  in  snake  countries  I  have  made 
it  a  point  to  proffer  that  inquiry,  and 
up  to  date  I  have  found  just  three  men 
in  whose  veracity  I  had  confidence  who 
claim  to  have  seen  a  man  dead  of  snake 
bite.  Hundreds  could  prove  cases  by  the 
next  fellow ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
publication  of  this  will  bring  forth  many 
scornful  expostulants  who  have  seen 
whole  cohorts  succumb.  But  such  have 
been  the  results  of  my  own  careful  and 
extended  interrogations. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  rattlesnake 
does  not  inflict  a  fatal  bite;  but  merely 
that  the  chances  of  such  a  bite,  even  in  a 
snake  country,  are  exceedingly  small.  The 
reptile  usually  begins  to  rattle  before  you 
134 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

are  within  ten  yards  of  him,  and  is  always 
more  anxious  to  retreat  than  to  court 
trouble.  When  he  does  not  rattle,  the 
chances  are  that  he  is  too  torpid,  either 
from  cold  or  feeding,  to  strike  at  all. 
Even  if  trodden  on  at  such  a  time,  his 
stroke  is  apt  to  be  feeble  and  slow.  An- 
other element  of  safety  resides  in  the  fact 
that  leather  or  even  thick  clothing  will 
generally  wipe  the  venom  back  along  the 
grooved  fang,  so  that  even  if  the  skin  is 
actually  broken,  the  probabilities  of  in- 
fection are  small.  At  such  a  juncture  the 
supposed  victim  twines  himself  around 
the  whiskey  jug,  and  passes  away  in  an 
attack  of  delirium  tremens.  Add  to  these 
considerations  even  the  ordinary  precau- 
tion of  a  sharp  lookout  and  an  occasional 

stone  rolled  ahead  into  especially  snaky- 

1 

looking  places,  and  your  risk  is  not  worth 

x-         • 


mentioning. 

As  I  have  said,  the  rattlesnake's  main 
135 


THE   PASS 

desire  is  to  be  let  alone.  I  have  killed  hun- 
dreds, and  I  never  knew  but  one  case  of 
the  snake's  taking  the  aggressive — in  the 
sense  of  coming  forth  to  attack.  This  was 
a  large  diamond-back  that  had  twined 
himself  about  the  roots  of  a  manzanita. 
We  wanted  his  skin,  and  so  had  spent 
some  time  poking  at  him  with  a  stick,  try- 
ing to  get  his  head  into  such  a  position 
that  a  shot  at  it  would  not  injure  his  body. 
Evidently  he  got  tired  of  this,  for  after 
a  few  moments  he  uncoiled,  came  out 
from  his  shelter,  and  advanced  on  one  of 
us.  His  mouth  was  opened  wide,  like  the 
snakes  on  the  circus  posters,  his  head  was 
erect,  and  he  had  every  appearance  of  de- 
termination. He  advanced  straight  to- 
ward the  Tenderfoot,  rattling  vigorously. 
That  individual  promptly  stepped  aside, 
whereupon  the  snake  likewise  changed  his 
course.  This  was  repeated  several  times, 
so  that  we  could  have  no  doubt  that  he  was 
136 


actually  on  the  aggressive,  was  actually 
trying  to  get  at  our  friend. 

Three  fallacies  on  this  subject  I  have 
often  seen  printed.  One  is  that  a  snake 
cannot  rattle  unless  coiled.  He  can.  I 
have  often  seen  them  moving  rapidly 
across  the  trail,  head  and  tail  both  up,  buz- 
zing away  like  an  alarm  clock.  The  second 
fallacy  is  that  he  cannot  strike  unless 
coiled.  He  can.  I  admit  that  the  zone 
of  danger  is  somewhat  more  contracted, 
but  it  exists.  The  third  is  that  he  never 
can  strike  more  than  half  his  own  length. 
This  last  is  ordinarily  true,  but  it  is  an 
unsafe  rule  to  rely  on.  Once  in  a  deep,  hot 
canon  I  dismounted  to  kill  a  rather  small 
rattler  coiled  against  a  rock.  I  selected 
what  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  long  enough 
pole,  made  one  hit — and  was  missed  by 
just  about  six  inches!  Now  I  stood  at 
least  five  feet  from  that  snake,  and  he 
was  not  over  thirty  inches  long.  From 
137 


THE   PASS 

him  to  me  was  slightly  down  hill ;  but  the 
especial  point  was  that  the  reptile  had  by 
the  merest  chance  happened  to  get  a  pur- 
chase for  his  spring  from  the  rock  against 
which  he  was  coiled.  That  was  abnormal, 
of  course,  but  it  wouldn't  have  helped  me 
any  if  he  had  landed. 

The  best  way  is  to  give  them  a  wide 
berth.  If  you  have  a  rifle  and  enough  am- 
munition, just  point  the  muzzle  in  his 
direction,  hold  steady  for  a  moment,  and 
pull  the  trigger.  You  will  get  his  head 
every  time.  He  will  do  all  the  necessary 
aiming  himself,  as  his  instinct  is  to  thrust 
his  head  directly  toward  the  nearest  dan- 
gerous object.  If,  however,  you  have  no 
rifle  ammunition  to  throw  away,  then  use 
your  six-shooter.  Only  in  this  event  you 
will  have  to  be  your  own  marksman. 

It  is  astonishing  how  instantaneously 
the  human  nerves  react  to  the  shrill  buzz. 
A  man  who  has  never  heard  it  before,  rec- 

138 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

ognizes  it  at  once.  And  the  moment  the 
sound  vibration  strikes  his  ear-drum — 
long  before  it  has  had  a  chance  of  inter- 
pretation by  the  brain — his  muscles  have 
accomplished  for  him  a  record-breaking 
broad  jump. 

Late  one  evening  in  the  southern  part 
of  the  mountains  Wes  and  I  were  return- 
ing to  camp  after  an  unsuccessful  deer 
hunt.  Our  way  led  down  a  steep  slope 
covered  with  pine  needles.  We  swung 
along  rapidly,  six  feet  at  a  stride.  Sud- 
denly I  noticed  just  about  two  yards  ahead 
of  Wes,  who  was  preceding  me,  a  rattle- 
snake crossing  our  way.  My  companion's 
next  step  would  bring  him  fairly  atop  the 
reptile.  I  yelled,  and  at  the  same  instant 
Wes  must  have  seen  his  danger.  His 
stride  did  not  alter  its  rhythm,  nor  did  he 
appear  to  put  forth  the  least  increase  of 

x« 

muscular  effort.    But  he  fairly  sailed  into 

space. 

139 


THE   PASS 

Wes  told  me  another  yarn  of  how  he 
and  a  young  fellow,  occupying  overnight 
a  rangers*  cabin,  nearly  got  into  serious 
trouble. 

"I  was  sitting  on  a  bench,"  said  Wes, 
"and  the  Kid  was  lying  on  the  bunk  read- 
ing, his  head  on  one  hand.  I  looked  up, 
and  nearly  froze  stiff  when  I  saw  a  snake 
coiled  right  under  his  armpit,  in  the  hol- 
low of  his  arm.  I  knew  if  I  said  anything 
the  Kid  would  move,  and  that  would  be 
about  all.  And,  of  course,  I  couldn't  do 
nothin'.  The  snake  was  too  close  to  his 
body  for  me  to  shoot.  So  I  sat  there 
figurin'  away  to  myself;  and  I  guess  I 
must  have  prayed  that  was  an  interest- 
ing book.  Anyway,  finally  I  sneaked 
over,  and  I  reached  out,  and  I  got  that 
Kid  by  the  wrist  he  was  leaning  his  head 
on,  and  I  give  him  one  good  yank! 
I  reckon  I  was  so  scared  I  overdid  the 
matter,  for  that  Kid  hit  so  hard  against 
L40 


£2. 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

the  other  wall  that  it  mighty  nigh  killed 
him." 

Wes  weighs  about  two  hundred  and  is 
strong  as  a  horse.  I  did  not  envy  the 
Kid's  predicament  either  before  or  after 
the  discovery  of  the  snake. 

We  told  these  and  other  tales  about  the 
campfire.  That  night  Billy,  too,  had  her 
experience  with  snakes. 

When  Billy  retires  for  slumber  she 
wears  a  sort  of  blanket  robe  with  a  peaked 
hood,  which  she  pulls  up  over  her  head. 
About  two  in  the  morning  she  awoke  with! 
a  start,  thoroughly  convinced  that  some- 
thing was  wrong.  After  a  moment  her 
faculties  adjusted  themselves,  and  she 
turned  cold  about  the  heart  as  she  realized 
that  a  snake  had  crawled  into  the  blanket, 
and  was  coiled  between  her  head  and  the 
hood. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  do.  If  she 
moved,  even  to  awaken  me,  the  snake  dis- 


THE   PASS 

turbed  in  the  warm  comfort  for  the  sake 
of  which  he  had  made  his  invasion,  would 
probably  strike.  The  minutes  dragged 
by  in  an  agony.  Finally,  Billy  reasoned 
that  she  was  doomed  to  be  bitten  anyway, 
and  that  a  bite  in  the  hand  was  preferable 
to  one  in  the  head,  so  with  a  degree  of 
very  real  courage  she  softly  inserted  her 
hand  in  the  hood,  poised  it  over  what  felt 
to  be  the  thickest  coil,  pounced  suddenly 
— and  nearly  yanked  herself  out  of  bed 
by  the  braid  of  her  hair !  * 


*  Since  writing  the  above  Pepper  has  been  bitten  by  a 
rattlesnake.  The  reptile  struck  her  just  back  of  the  ankle 
joint.  Almost  immediately  the  whole  leg  and  shoulder 
swelled  enormously  and  became  exceedingly  painful.  I 
carried  her  over  my  saddle  for  some  miles  and  then  went 
into  camp  for  several  days  in  order  to  give  her  a  chance  of 
recovery.  The  poor  pup  had  a  mighty  sick  time  of  it. 
The  leg  and  foot  were  puffed  out  and  as  stiff  as  a  club. 
Of  course  she  could  bear  no  weight  on  it — in  fact  the 
lightest  touch  to  the  ground  caused  her  to  cry  dolefully. 
At  night  she  sometimes  took  an  hour  to  lie  down.  The 
swelling  ran  down  the  left  side  of  her  chest  in  a  great  welt. 
At  the  end  of  two  days  the  symptoms  began  to  subside  with 
marvelous  quickness.  By  the  morning  of  the  third  she  was 
as  well  as  ever,  and  followed  me  afoot  over  Shuteye  Pass. 

142 


THE   PERMANENT   CAMP 

A  week  slipped  by  before  we  knew  it. 
The  only  incidents  were  occasional  noon 
thunder  storms,  and  the  sight  of  a  bear. 
This  I  saw,  but  as  a  fishing  rod  was  my 
deadliest  possession,  I  did  not  get  him.  A 
consequent  hunt  resulted  in  a  yearling 
cub,  which  made  good  meat,  but  was  not 
otherwise  interesting. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  we  realized  that 
Jenny's  legs  would  not  much  longer  serve 
as  an  excuse.  So  we  prepared  for  our 
monthly  job  of  shoeing  the  animals. 

If  I  were  the  only  blacksmith  in  the 
world  I  would  charge  fifty  dollars  for 
shoeing  a  horse.  It  is  the  most  back- 
breaking,  tiresome  job  I  know  of.  We 
carried  the  malleable  "Goodenough"  shoe, 
which  could  be  fashioned  cold;  but  even 
with  that  advantage  each  animal  seemed 
to  develop  enough  feet  to  furnish  out 
centipede.  Calamity  Jane  appeared 
look  on  us  as  a  rest  cure.  Whenever  we 
143 


THE   PASS 


got  a  foot  of  hers  off  ground,  she 
promptly  leaned  her  entire  weight  on  that 
leg,  so  we  slung  her  up.  Dinkey,  with 
customary  maliciousness,  tried  every  mis- 
chievous trick  to  bother  us ;  but  we  settled 
her  promptly  by  throwing  and  hog-tying. 
To  add  to  our  troubles  the  punch  broke. 
We  had  no  forge,  of  course,  so  we  were 
under  the  necessity  of  burying  it  until  red 
in  the  hottest  fire  we  could  make  of  cones 
and  pitchpine,  beating  it  with  a  hatchet, 
and  tempering  it  as  best  we  could  in  bacon 
grease.  After  three  attempts  we  made 
it  serviceable  and  went  ahead.  But  we 
were  mighty  glad  when  the  last  nail  was 
driven. 

There  is  a  finality  about  the  abandon- 
ment of  a  permanent  camp  to  be  experi- 
enced in  no  other  household  removal. 
You  have  made  this  home  in  the  wilder- 
ness and  even  the  short  period  of  your 
residence  has  given  it  an  individuality. 


THE   PERMANENT    CAMP 

Now  you  leave  it,  and  you  are  absolutely 
certain  that  this  particular  abiding  place 
you  will  never  see  again.  The  moment 
your  back  is  turned,  the  forest  begins  her 
task  of  resolving  it  to  its  original  ele- 
ments. Chipmunks  and  squirrels  and  lit- 
tle birds  make  away  quickly  with  the 
debris.  The  trees  sift  down  the  forest 
litter.  Already  beneath  the  soil  are  ger- 
minating seeds  which  shall  spring  up  to 
cover  the  place  where  your  bed  had  lain, 
and  the  very  ashes  of  your  campfires  are 
fertilizing  them.  Next  year  you  may  re- 
turn to  this  identical  spot.  But  you  will 
not  resume  your  place  in  your  old  camp. 
A  new  camp  is  to  be  made  from  new  ma- 
terials amid  new  surroundings.  The  old 
has  vanished  forever  as  completely  as  the 
smoke  of  the  fires  that  used  to  eddy  down 
through  the  trees. 

So  when  the  time  came,  we  packed  our 
animals  and  hit  the  trail  eagerly  enough, 
145 


THE   PASS 

it  is  true,  for  we  were  well  rested;  but  a 
little  regretfully,  also.  The  camp  by 
Roaring  River  had  been  a  good  camp. 
We  had  enjoyed  it.  And  though  we 
knew  the  voice  of  the  waters  would  con- 
tinue to  call  through  the  forest,  we  knew 
also  that  in  all  probability  it  would  not 
call  to  us  again. 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 


IX 

THE   SIDE    HILL   CAMP 

THE  horses,  too,  hated  to  make  a  start. 
Dinkey,  in  especial,  uttered  the  most 
heart-rending  moans  and  groans  as  we 
cinched  her  up.  And  as  for  Calamity 
Jane,  her  long  ears  missed  support  en- 
tirely, and  hung  as  the  force  of  gravity 
directed. 

Tuxana  and  Pepper,  however,  were  de- 
lighted. They  had  long  since  terrorized 
all  the  chipmunks  and  Douglas  squirrels 
and  ground  bears  of  the  immediate  vicin- 
ity. When  we  whistled  "boots  and  sad- 
dles," as  was  our  custom,  all  fell  in  line 
obediently  enough,  but  the  two  dogs 
fairly  frisked. 

For  several  hours  we  wound  leisurely 
149 


THE   PASS 

up  the  defiles  of  Deadman's  Canon,  as- 
cending the  bits  of  steep  trails  up  the 
terraces,  crossing  the  knee-deep  meadows 
between  them,  admiring  the  straight  lofty 
cliffs  on  either  hand,  with  their  tiny  fringe 
of  pine  trees  on  top  inconceivably  re- 
mote, their  jutting  crags,  like  monstrous 
gargoyles  overlooking  an  abyss,  and 
their  smooth  sheer  sweeps  in  syncline  of 
glacier-polished  granite.  At  the  foot  of 
these  cliffs  were  steep  slopes  of  rock 
debris,  thrown  down  by  the  action  of  frost 
and  sun.  Among  them  had  sprouted 
hardy  bushes,  affording  a  cover  in  which 
we  looked  in  vain  for  a  possible  bear.  The 
canon  bottom  contained  meadows,  and 
strips  of  cottonwood  and  quaking  asp,  as 
well  as  scattered  junipers  and  cedars.  A 
beautiful  stream,  the  west  fork  of  Roar- 
ing River,  dropped  from  one  clear  pool 
to  another,  or  meandered  between  clean- 
cut  banks  of  sod. 

150 


A  treacherous  snow  field. 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 

A  number  of  ground  bear  lived  in  the 
rocks.  These  are  animals  of  the  wood- 
chuck  family,  about  thirty  or  forty 
pounds  in  weight,  possessed  of  an  impu- 
dent spirit  and  beautiful  long  fur.  As 
they  amble  over  the  boulders,  they  look 
to  be  much  larger  than  they  are.  Their 
chief  delight  was  to  stand  directly  over  an 
impregnable  hiding  place,  and  then  to 
utter  insults  in  a  shrill,  clear  voice,  which 
has  earned  them  farther  north  the  name 
of  siffleur.  At  once  the  dogs,  quivering 
with  eagerness,  would  dash  away.  Louder 
and  louder  sounded  the  stream  of  vitu- 
peration. And  then,  at  the  very  latest 
moment,  the  ground  bear  would  quietly 
disappear.  Pepper  and  Tuxana  would 
butt  their  noses  against  the  very  unyield- 
ing spot  where  he  had  been.  At  the  same 
instant  his  first  cousin,  residing  some  hun- 
dreds of  feet  distant,  would  begin  to  men- 
tion to  Pepper  the  ridiculousness  of  her 
151 


THE   PASS 

fuzzy  bobtail,  and  to  Tuxana  the  impres- 
sion produced  by  her  small  pink-rimmed 
eyes,  whereupon  the  dogs  would  scramble 
away  after  this  new  enemy.  It  must  have 
been  very  hard  on  their  nervous  systems, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  ground 
bears,  who  are  very  wise  and  cynical  in 
appearance,  counted  on  these  tactics  to 
reduce  their  pursuers  to  an  early  imbe- 
cility. Late  in  the  day,  however,  we 
avenged  our  own  animals  by  shooting  a 
ground  bear.  His  carcass  we  used  for 
dog  meat,  which  we  lacked;  his  tallow  we 
employed  for  boot  grease,  of  which  we 
stood  much  in  need;  and  his  fur  we  gave 
to  Billy,  who  admired  it.  Thus  his  end 
was  fitting. 

We  camped  that  night  in  the  very  last 
grove  at  the  timber  line.  Next  morning 
we  were  afoot  literally  by  daylight,  and 
it  was  very  cold.  The  old  trail  to  the 
prospect  holes  part  way  up  the  mountains 


THE    SIDE    HILL    CAMP 

we  found  steep  and  difficult,  but  not  dan- 
gerous. By  ten  we  had  reached,  at  the 
same  point,  its  end,  and  the  beginning  of 
the  snow. 

Here  we  discovered  that  Modesto  had 
cast  a  shoe — one  of  his  nice  new  ones  that 
we  thought  we  had  nailed  on  fast.  Noth- 
ing remained  but  to  unpack  Old  Slob, 
who  carried  the  repair  kits,  and  to  under- 
take the  job  then  and  there.  Wes  volun- 
teered, and  while  he  was  at  it,  we  looked 
about  us  with  some  curiosity. 

The  miners  had  laboriously  leveled  in 
the  granite  debris  two  platforms  for  two 
tents.  The  remains  of  a  rough  forge 
stood  near  at  hand.  Beneath  a  stone  still 
lingered,  undissolved  by  the  elements,  the 
remains  of  a  pack  of  cards.  Two  or  three 
sticks  of  stove  wood  had  escaped  burning. 

Now  what  do  you  suppose  such  men 
expect  to  make  out  of  a  dubious  copper 

prospect  in  such  a  location?    In  the  first 
153 


THE   PASS 

place,  every  pound  of  supplies  would  have 
to  be  packed  from  Millwood,  heaven 
knows  how  many  miles  away  or  over  how 
many  mountains,  and  every  pound  of  ore 
would  have  to  be  packed  out.  In  the 
second  place,  it  was  now  well  on  in  Au- 
gust, yet  the  snows  had  barely  receded. 
Two  months  of  work  a  year  at  most  are  all 
a  man  can  hope  for  at  such  an  elevation. 
And  to  cap  the  apparent  absurdity,  the 
mineral  to  be  mined  is  not  one  of  the 
precious  metals. 

I  know  of  half  a  dozen  such  proposi- 
tions in  the  length  of  the  Sierras.  And 
often  I  have  seen  their  owners  going  in 
to  the  properties,  old,  white-bearded  men 
for  the  most  part,  with  jolly,  twinkling 
eyes  and  a  fund  of  anecdotes.  Inquiry 
brings  out  that  they  are  from  Stockton  or 
Sacramento  or  Fresno  or  some  other  val- 
ley town,  and  that  they  have  been  coming 
into  the  mountains  for  an  incredible  num- 

/£^»-^V         /  . ^^tf^ 

154 


THE    SIDE    HILL    CAMP 

ber  of  years.  When  you  speak  to  them  of 
their  mines,  they  always  look  mysterious, 
as  though  there  were  things  of  which  they 
could  not  talk — yet.  My  theory  is  that 
these  ancients  are  jolly  and  lovable  old 
frauds.  They  live  respectably  in  their 
valley  towns  all  winter,  attending  to  their 
business  and  their  pew  rent  and  their 
social  duties  as  staid  and  proper  citizens. 
But  when  summer  comes,  the  old  moun- 
taineering blood  begins  to  stir  in  them. 
They  are  ashamed  frankly  to  follow  their 
inclination.  How  would  it  look!  What 
an  example  for  the  young  men!  Deacon 
Brown  has  got  tired  of  work,  so  he's  go- 
ing out  to  be  a  hobo!  And  imagine  the 
enormity  in  the  eyes  of  an  industrious 
neighborhood  of  a  two  or  three  months' 
vacation.  So  these  delightful  old  hypo- 
crites invent  the  legend  of  vast  interests 
'way  up  where  the  snow  lies;  and  year 
after  year  they  sneak  back  to  haunts 
155 


THE   PASS 

flavored  by  long  associations,  where  they 
do  a  little  pick  and  drill  work — for  a  man 
must  save  his  own  self-respect,  and,  be- 
sides, the  game  is  interesting — and  shoot 
a  deer  or  so,  and  smoke  a  lot  of  strong, 
rank  tobacco,  and  concoct  wonderful 
things  with  onions  in  a  covered  and  for- 
midable frying  pan,  and  just  have  a  good 
time.  They  are  engaging  conspirators, 
and  I  advise  you  never  to  pass  by  one  of 
their  camps. 

By  this  time  Wes  had  finished  his 
job.  We  repacked  and  continued  on  our 
way. 

Thanks  to  my  careful  scouting  of  ten 
days  before,  we  had  no  trouble  at  all  in 
reaching  the  "saddle."  At  noon  we 
called  a  halt  there,  ate  our  lunch,  built  a 
huge  pile  of  rocks  as  a  monument  and 
congratulated  ourselves  that  the  worst 
was  over.  You  see,  we  still  clung  to  the 
Ranger's  statement  that  once  at  the  top 
156 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 

we  would  have  no  difficulty  with  the  other 
side.  Already  we  began  to  plan  how  we 
would  camp  at  the  lower  border  of  the 
round  meadow  in  the  rock-bound  canon 
below  us;  how  next  day  we  would  go  on 
to  Redwood  Meadow,  and  by  the  26th  be 
at  Kern  Lake,  and  so  on.  This  is  a  fatal 
practice.  Just  as  soon  as  you  begin  to 
make  up  your  mind  that  you  will  catch 
some  trout,  or  do  the  washing,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort  before  supper,  the  trail 
is  sure  to  lose  itself,  or  develop  unex- 
pected difficulties,  so  that  at  the  end  you 
must  cook  by  firelight.  An  inch  on  the 
map  is  a  mighty  deceiving  thing. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  having  fin- 
ished our  hardtack  and  raisins,  we  poured 
about  two  spoonfuls  of  whiskey  over  a 
cupful  of  snow,  and  solemnly  christened 
this  place  Elizabeth  Pass,  after  Billy.* 

*  See  S.  E.  corner  of  the  Tehipite  Quadrangle,  U.  S. 
Survey. 

157 


THE   PASS 

It  proved  to  be  a  little  over  twelve  thou- 
sand feet  in  elevation.  Although  we  ex- 
perienced some  difficulty  and  consumed 
some  little  time  in  getting  over,  the  delay 
was  because  of  the  necessity  of  looking 
out  the  best  route.  Subsequent  travelers, 
by  following  our  monuments,  and  the 
field  notes  given  in  the  appendix,  should 
have  no  difficulty,  except  at  one  place  on 
the  ledge,  of  getting  through.  Of  the 
ledge,  more  hereafter.  The  route  should 
prove  a  good  short-cut  between  the  south 
fork  of  the  King's  River  and  the  head- 
waters of  the  Kaweah. 

We  cached  a  screw-top  can  in  the  mon- 
ument. It  contained  a  brief  statement 
of  names  and  dates,  named  the  pass,  and 
claimed  for  Billy  the  honor  of  being  the 
first  woman  to  traverse  it.  Then  we  took 
a  last  look  on  the  tumult  of  mountains  to 
the  north,  and  addressed  ourselves  to  the 
task  of  following,  as  far  as  it  led,  the 

158 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 

piece  of  trail  I  had  constructed  ten  days 
before. 

The  descent  for  a  thousand  feet  was 
almost  suspiciously  easy.  We  slid  down 
a  rather  steep  and  stony  ridge  at  right 
angles  to  the  main  system,  turned  sharp 
to  the  left  across  its  shoulder,  and  so 
gained  a  shallow  ravine.  All  this  was 
over  shale,  stones,  and  angular  rocks  the 
size  of  your  head,  not  to  speak  of  half 
sunken  ledges,  down  which  the  horses 
had  to  slide  or  jump.  But  for  all  that, 
the  going,  as  granite  country  runs,  was 
neither  dangerous  nor  too  difficult,  and 
we  congratulated  ourselves  that  at  this 
rate  we  would  be  able  to  test  the  coldness 
of  the  waters  in  the  lake  before  even  the 
early  mountain  sunset. 

Up  to  the  time  we  gained  the  head  of 
the  ravine  we  had  traveled  over  uncom- 
promising rock — and  nothing  else.  Here 

however,  we  waded  at  once  knee  deep  into 
169 


THE   PASS 

full-blossomed  blue  lupins.  They  filled 
the  depression  between  the  lateral  ridges, 
and  flung  themselves  far  up  the  slopes, 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  acres  of  them, 
like  a  huge  tapestry  laid  out  to  our  honor. 
Their  fragrance  was  almost  overpower- 
ing, and  their  color  paled  even  the  intense 
blue  of  the  heavens.  Below  they  ran  out 
into  tuft-grass  between  the  stones,  and 
still  below  that  were  two  scattered  groves 
of  lodge-pole  pines  and  junipers. 

We  made  our  way  with  extra  care 
through  the  lupins,  for  though  they  were 
beautiful,  they  masked  the  uncertainty  of 
the  footing.  After  awhile  we  came  to 
the  bunch  grass,  which  was  easier,  and 
so  through  the  thin  mask  of  trees. 

Below  us  the  hill  dropped  off  sheer  in 
a  tremendous  plunge.  We  found  after- 
ward that  it  was  about  fifteen  hundred 
feet.  To  the  left  we  knew  the  upper 
basin  to  be  on  about  the  same  level  as  our- 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 

selves.  From  it  leaped  the  Kaweah  over 
the  rim  of  the  amphitheater  on  which  we 
stood,  vanished  from  sight,  and  reap- 
peared in  slender  filaments  feeling  their 
way  through  the  meadow  helow.  To  the 
right  our  side  hill  seemed  to  merge  in 
more  precipitous  mountains.  Below  the 
meadow  the  river  appeared  to  take  an- 
other plunge  to  another  level. 

The  problem,  of  course,  was  to  find  a 
way  from  the  rim  to  the  bottom  of  the 
amphitheater.  We  could  see  the  opposite 
side,  and  part  of  one  end.  Dismount- 
ing, we  examined  the  prospect  carefully 
through  a  glass.  Starting  at  the  top  we 
would  follow  out  inch  by  inch  the  possi- 
bilities of  descent.  Always  the  most 
promising  ledges  ended  in  thin  air  or  nar- 
rowed to  the  point  of  merging  with  the 
face  of  the  cliffs.  A  single  streak  of 
green,  almost  perpendicular,  and  next  the 
waterfall,  offered  the  only  possible  way. 
161 


THE   PASS 


It  might  be  grassy,  on  soil,  in  which  case 
we  would  be  able  to  cut  in  it  a  zigzag 
trail,  or  it  might  consist  of  bushes,  which 
might  or  might  not  mask  an  impasse. 
Our  side  of  the  basin  was,  of  course,  con- 
cealed. 

It  was  decided  that  I  should  explore  on 
foot  to  the  right  and  below.  I  resolved 
first  of  all  to  continue  as  far  as  possible 
to  the  right  on  our  present  level.  The 
way  led  first  through  another  steep  and 
scattered  grove,  past  a  shale  slide,  and  so 
out  to  the  ledge. 

The  ledge  was  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  break  in  the  sheer  granite  sweep 
of  a  mountain  some  twenty-five  hundred 
feet  from  summit  to  meajdow.  It  was 
not  a  flat  ledge,  but  rounded  outward  to 
the  plunge.  Where  it  joined  the  upper 
cliff  a  little  soil  had  gathered,  and  on  that 
soil  had  grown  a  tough,  thick  sod.  This 
strip  of  sod,  whose  surface  was  steep  as  a 
162 


roof,  varied  in  width  from  one  to  several 
feet.  I  recognized  the  fact  that  while  no 
horse  could  possibly  walk  on  it,  neverthe- 
less we  might  be  able  to  cut  enough  of  a 
notch  in  it  to  afford  footing.  A  cursory 
examination,  however,  soon  turned  me 
in  another  direction.  At  one  point  the 
ledge  ceased  for  about  twelve  feet.  Up 
to  the  beginning  of  that  twelve  feet  the 
slender  vein  of  sod  ran  unbroken ;  beyond 
that  twelve  feet  it  continued  until  it  ap- 
peared to  run  out  on  shale.  But  between 
was  nothing  but  hard,  slippery  granite, 
slanted  away  at  an  impossible  angle  to  a 
final  perpendicular  drop  of  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  Unless  one  had  a  fly- 
ing machine  ferry,  thought  I,  he  would 
hardly  cross  horses  over  that  gulf. 

So  I  turned  back.     The  face  of  the 

mountain  below  where  we  had  paused  was 

utterly  impassable.    It,  too,  consisted  of 

a  series  of  inclined  ledges,  disconnected, 

163 


THE   PASS 

and  all  pinching  out  to  nothing.  A  man 
could  get  down  afoot,  by  doing  some 
dropping,  some  jumping,  and  a  good  deal 
of  stout  clinging.  I  did  so,  and  shortly 
found  myself  looking  far  up  the  cliff 
and  wondering  how  I  had  ever  accom- 
plished it. 

That  was  not  my  pressing  business  for 
the  moment,  however.  Turning  to  the 
left  I  hurried  across  the  immense  piles  of 
debris  that  sloped  steeply  away  from  the 
cliff,  crossed  the  stream  below  the  water- 
fall, and  commenced  the  ascent  of  the 
strip  of  green  we  had  made  out  through 
our  glasses. 

At  first  I  was  enough  encouraged  to 
stick  up  a  few  tentative  monuments. 
Then  I  struck  a  bad  place.  It  is  easy  to 
slur  over  bad  places  when  you  are  afoot. 
They  are  easy  enough  for  you.  I  wanted 
awfully  to  climb  over  hastily  and  forget 
it,  but  I  knew  retribution  would  follow 

164 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 

later.  So  I  canvassed  all  the  possibilities 
as  to  that  bad  place,  and  ended  by  making 
a  fresh  start  just  below  it.  This  time  I 
got  a  trifle  farther,  had  to  reconsider 
again,  and  so  made  progress,  a  little  at  a 
time. 

The  mountain  teased  me  up  that  way 
for  about  six  hundred  feet.  Then  she 
carelessly  tossed  a  few  hundred  tons  of 
angular  rocks  across  the  way.  The  bushes 
concealed  them;  but  they  were  there,  and 
it  did  not  take  me  more  than  ten  minutes 
to  determine  the  utter  impracticability  of 
that  as  a  way  down.  So  I  threw  away 
circumspection  and  climbed  rapidly  back 
to  the  rim  of  the  basin. 

I  found  the  party  awaiting  me  eagerly. 

"Which  way?"  called  Wes. 

"As  near  as  I  could  tell,"  said  I,  "it  is 

no  way.    There's  a  ledge  over  there  to  the 

west  that  peters  out,  but  which  I  only 

looked  at  from  a  distance.    It  may  look 

165 


THE   PASS 

better  when  you  get  nearer.  Everywhere 
else  is  straight  up  and  down." 

"Well,  let's  tackle  it." 

"It's  too  big  a  proposition  for  to-day," 
said  I,  "we'd  better  camp." 

"Where?"  cried  Billy,  aghast. 

"Here,"  said  I. 

"Why,  it's  right  on  a  side  hill!"  she  ob- 
jected. 

"It  is,"  I  agreed.  "If  you  drop  a  ket- 
tle, it  is  going  to  roll  off  into  space,  and 
you'll  never  see  it  any  more.  The  same 
to  you,  ma'am.  But  here's  some  bunch 
grass,  and  there's  a  bit  of  a  stream  in  those 
big  rocks  yonder,  and  right  by  you  is  the 
only  log  of  dry  wood  in  this  township." 

We  had  a  lot  of  fun  making  camp  on 
that  side  hill.  Using  the  back  of  the  axe 
as  a  sort  of  pick,  we  managed  to  dig  out 
below  a  boulder  a  level  large  enough  to 
contain  our  fire  irons.  "Upstairs"  fifty 

feet  was  another  boulder.     Above  this 

166 


THE    SIDE    HILL    CAMP 

one  Billy  and  I,  with  great  labor,  scraped 
a  narrow  trough  in  which  to  sleep. 
"Downstairs"  Wes  did  the  same.  He 
contemplated  the  result  somewhat  dubi- 
ously. 

"In  this  country,"  said  he,  "a  man  has 
to  picket  himself  out  to  sleep." 

Water  we  dipped  up  cup  by  cup  into 
our  folding  canvas  pail  from  a  single 
place  where  it  showed  above  the  massive 
granite  debris  that  filled  its  course.  We 
could  hear  it  singing  up  through  the  in- 
terstices of  the  cool,  gray  rocks.  Wood 
we  chopped  from  the  single  log.  It  was 
resinous,  and  burned  quickly  with  a  tre- 
mendous heat  and  much  soot,  but  it  suf- 
ficed for  our  simple  cooking.  Then  we 
sat  down  and  looked  about  us. 

The  meadow  below  was  already  de- 
cently on  toward  night.  In  the  lake  a 
number  of  boulders  seemed  to  swim  plac- 
idly above  their  own  reflections.  Oppo- 
167 


THE   PASS 

site  was  a  long,  black  mountain  of  rock 
whose  sides  were  too  steep  to  retain  snow, 
and  which  showed,  therefore,  in  the  more 
striking  contrast  to  the  white  all  around 
its  base.  We  called  it  the  frozen  monster, 
because  of  its  shape.  It  belonged  evi- 
dently to  the  crocodile  family,  had  a  blunt 
head,  short,  sprawling  legs,  and  a  long, 
reptilian  tail.  The  resemblance  was  per- 
fect, and  required  but  little  of  the  exer- 
cise of  the  imagination  such  likenesses 
usually  demand.  On  closing  our  eyes  at 
night,  the  last  thing  we  saw  was  this  sleep- 
ing saurian,  benumbed  by  the  perpetual 
cold  in  which  he  dwelt.  We  amused  our- 
selves speculating  as  to  his  awakening.  It 
ought  to  occasion  quite  a  stir  among  the 
old  liars  who  always  kill  their  grizzlies 
with  a  knife,  for  he  was  over  a  mile  long. 
Above  the  frozen  monster  towered  the 
bleak  and  forbidding  peaks  of  the  Ka- 
weah  Group,  running  abruptly  down  to 
168 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 

where  a  bend  in  the  canon  concealed  what 
must  have  been  the  beginning  of  the  pine 
country.  All  about  us,  thus,  were  great 
peaks,  rugged  granite,  snows.  We 
looked  at  them  from  the  middle  point; 
they  were  co-equal  with  us,  on  our  own 
plane  of  existence,  like  gigantic  com- 
rades. In  the  next  two  days  we  acquired 
gradually  the  feeling  that  we  were  living 
out  in  the  air,  away  from  the  solid  earth 
that  most  people  inhabit — as  a  man  might 
feel  who  lived  on  a  scaffold  above  a  city. 
Clinging  to  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain 
we  lost  the  assurance  of  level  ground,  but 
gained  an  inflation  of  spirit  that  for  the 
moment  measured  itself  by  the  standard 
of  these  titanic  peaks. 

Again,  we  early  fell  under  the  illusion 
that  somehow  more  sunshine,  more  day- 
light, was  allotted  to  us  than  to  less  for- 
tunate mortals.  Each  morning  we  arose 
in  the  full  sunrise,  to  look  down  on  the 
169 


THE   PASS 

canon  still  dim  and  gray  with  dawn. 
Each  evening  we  cooked  supper,  in  the 
shadow,  it  is  true,  but  with  sunshine  all 
about  us,  while  plainly  the  canon  had 
set  its  affairs  in  order  for  the  night.  In 
time  the  notion  took  us  that  thus  we,  little 
atoms,  were  sharing  some  extra-human 
privilege  with  the  calm  giants  all  about 
us;  that  if  we  only  could  grow  our  souls 
to  meet  the  rare  opportunities  here  offered 
us  we  could  enter  into  and  understand 
the  beautiful  mysteries  that  are  in  the 
afterglows  on  the  mountains. 

A  number  of  more  prosaic  considera- 
tions were  likewise  forced  upon  us.  For 
instance,  it  took  a  fearfully  long  time  to 
boil  things,  and  a  deal  of  hard  work  to 
get  about,  and  still  more  hard  work  to 
keep  the  cooking  fire  supplied  with  fuel. 
After  the  sun  dipped  below  the  horizon, 
the  snow-cold  swooped  like  a  hawk,  and 

we  soon  found  ourselves  offered  the  choice 

170 


THE    SIDE   HILL   CAMP 

of  retirement  at  an  unheard  of  hour  or 
else  prolonged  rustling  of  firewood.  Now 
it  happened  that  some  dwarf  trees,  not 
over  three  or  four  feet  high,  but  thick 
and  twisted  and  sturdy  as  gnomes,  grew 
thereabout.  We  discovered  them  to  be 
full  of  pitch,  so  we  just  set  fire  to  one  each 
evening.  It  burned  gorgeously,  with 
many  colored  flames,  taking  on  strange 
and  sinister  shapes  and  likenesses  as  the 
coals  glowed  and  blackened  and  fell.  It 
must  have  puzzled  the  frozen  monster — 
if  he  happened  to  uncover  one  sleepy  eye 
— this  single  tiny  star,  descended  from 
the  heavens,  to  wink  brave  as  a  red  jewel 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain. 

In  the  night  it  grew  to  be  very  cold,  so 
that  the  mountains  looked  brittle,  and  the 
sky  polished,  and  the  stars  snappy  like 
electric  sparks.  But  we  had  on  all  the 
clothes  we  owned,  and  our  blankets  were 
warm.  Tuxana  and  Pepper  crawled 
171 


THE   PASS 

down  to  nestle  at  our  feet.  Far  up  above 
we  could  hear  the  bell.  The  horses,  as  was 
their  custom,  would  eat  all  night.  Then, 
guided  by  some  remarkable  instinct,  they 
would  roost  accurately  on  the  first  spot 
to  be  reached  by  the  sun.  There,  fur 
ruffled  like  velvet,  they  would  wait  pa- 
tiently the  chance  to  warm  up  and  snatch 
a  little  sleep. 


THE   LEDGE 


THE    LEDGE 

BY  shortly  after  sun-up  the  next  morn- 
ing Wes  and  I  were  out.  We  carried 
with  us  our  only  implements — the  axe  and 
the  short-handled  shovel.  The  way  we 
monumented  led  along  the  side  hill,  with 
some  twisting  to  avoid  bad  outcrops  and 
boulder  stringers ;  diagonally  through  the 
thin  grove  of  lodgepole  pines,  and  by  a 
series  of  steep  lacets  down  a  coarse  sand 
slide  to  the  beginning  of  the  ledge. 

Here  we  proceeded  cautiously,  cling- 
ing to  projections  of  the  rocks,  and  to  the 
twisted  bushes  growing  marvelously  in 
their  interstices.    The  steep  grassy  stri 
was  slippery,  but  testing  its  consistency 
with  the  back  of  the  axe  we  found  it  soli 
175 


THE   PASS 

and  tough.  The  ten-foot  precipice  we 
climbed  above,  scrambling  where  even  a 
goat  could  not  have  gone.  We  paid  little 
attention  to  it  for  the  moment.  There 
would  be  plenty  of  time  to  worry  over  its 
difficulties  when  we  had  discovered  the 
possibilities  beyond. 

Them  we  found  rather  good.  The 
ledge  here  became  a  strip  of  very  steep 
side  hill  included  between  two  precipices. 
That  side  hill  was  thick  and  tangled  with 
stunted  brush,  serrated  with  outcropping 
ledges,  unstable  with  loose  and  rolling 
stones,  but  some  sort  of  a  trail  through  it 
was  merely  an  affair  of  time  and  hard 
work.  One  ten-foot  slide  made  us  shake 
our  heads  a  little,  for  it  ended  with  a 
right-angled  turn.  To  continue  straight 
ahead  meant  departure  by  the  balloon 
route.  Finally,  we  arrived  at  an  al- 
most perpendicular  watercourse  emerg- 
ing from  a  "chimney"  in  the  precipice 
176 


THE   LEDGE 


above  us.  It  contained  but  a  trickle  of 
very  cold,  and  very  grateful,  water,  but  in 
the  melting  of  the  winter  snows  evidently 
accommodated  a  torrent.  At  any  rate,  its 
boulder-filled  bottom  was  some  four  feet 
below  our  level  and  that  of  the  trail  route 
on  the  other  side. 

As  I  have  said,  the  bottom  was  boulder- 
filled,  great  big  round  fellows  impossible 
to  move.  The  banks  were  of  cemented 
rubble  and  rock  impossible  to  break  down 
without  powder.  No  horse  could  cross  it 
as  it  was,  and  materials  for  a  bridge 
lacked. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Wes,  "we'll  tackle 
it  later." 

We  crossed  to  the  other  side,  scrambled 
around  a  bend,  and  found  ourselves  on 
a  little  flat.  Just  beyond  the  flat  we  could 
see  that  another  steep  shale  slide  began. 
We  walked  to  the  edge  and  looked.  In- 
stead of  running  off  to  a  jump,  as  did 
177 


THE   PASS 

every  other  slide  on  this  mountain,  it 
reached  quite  down  to  the  round  meadow. 

"There's  our  way  down,"  said  Wes.  "I 
don't  know  whether  we  can  get  through 
the  canon;  but  anyway  we'll  have  horse 
feed,  and  wood  and  water." 

We  turned  back,  resolved  now  on  pick- 
ing our  way  through  more  in  detail.  The 
watercourse  we  left  for  the  time  being. 

Picking  a  way  is  good  fun.  You  must 
first  scout  ahead  in  general.  Then  you 
determine  more  carefully  just  where  each 
hoof  is  to  fall.  For  instance,  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  whether  you  are  to  go  above  or 
below  a  certain  small  ledge.  You  decide 
on  going  below,  because  thus  you  will 
dodge  a  little  climb,  and  also  a  rather  slip- 
pery looking  rock  slide.  But  on  investi- 
gation you  find,  hidden  by  the  bushes,  a 
riven  boulder.  There  is  no  way  around  it. 
So,  then,  retrace  your  steps  to  the  place 
where  you  made  your  first  choice.  The 
178 


THE   LEDGE 

upper  route  again  offers  you  an  alterna- 
tive. You  select  one;  it  turns  out  well; 
forks  again.  But  you  discover  both  these 
forks  utterly  impracticable.  So  back  you 
must  hike  to  the  very  beginning  to  dis- 
cover, if  you  can,  perhaps  a  third  and 
heretofore  unconsidered  chance.  Then, 
if  none  are  good,  you  must  cast  in  review 
the  features  of  all  your  little  explorations 
in  order  to  determine  which  best  lends 
itself  to  expedients.  This  consumes  time, 
but  it  is  great  fun. 

Wes  and  I  took  turns  at  it.  While  I 
picked  a  way,  Wes  followed  my  monu- 
ments, constructing  trail.  Then  after  a 
little  we  changed  off. 

Making  trail  for  the  moment  consisted 
quite  simply  in  cutting  brush  and  rolling 
rocks  out  of  the  way.  The  latter  is  hard 
on  the  hands.  I  started  out  with  a  pair 
of  "asbestos"  gloves,  but  wore  holes  in  the 
fingers  after  half  an  hour.  Then  I  dis- 
179 


THE   PASS 

covered  that  the  human  skin  is  tougher, 
although  by  the  end  of  the  morning  the 
ends  of  my  fingers  were  wearing  pretty 
thin.  The  round  stones  rolled  off  with  a 
prodigious  bounce  and  crash  and  smell  of 
fire.  When  they  reached  the  edge  they 
seemed  fairly  to  spring  out  into  the  air. 
After  that  we  knew  no  more  of  them,  not 
even  by  the  sound  of  their  hitting,  al- 
though we  listened  intently.  I  suppose 
the  overhang  of  the  cliff  threw  the  sound 
outward,  and  then,  too,  it  was  a  long  dis- 
tance to  the  bottom.  The  large  flat  slabs 
gave  way  with  a  grumbling,  slid  and  slith- 
ered sullenly  to  the  edge,  and  plumped 
ove?  in  a  dogged  fashion.  There  were  a 
great  many  of  these,  and  the  trouble  was 
that  though  they  were  all  solid  enough  in 
appearance,  most  would  give  way  under 
pressure. 

"This  trail  is  a  good  trail,  provided  the 
horses  behave,"  remarked  Wes,  "but,"  he 
180 


THE   LEDGE 

continued,  "each  animal's  got  only  one 
stumble  coming  to  him." 

By  noon  we  had  worked  our  way  back 
to  the  break  in  the  ledge.  Here  we  ate 
lunch.  Then  we  attacked  the  grass  strip 
on  the  other  side. 

This  was  from  a  foot  to  a  yard  or  so  in 
width.  We  attempted  to  dig  a  right- 
angled  notch  in  it,  but  found  it  too  tough. 
Shortly  the  shovel  twisted  out  of  my 
hands,  and  as  the  exact  hairline  perpen- 
dicular was  necessary  to  stay  on  earth  at 
all,  I  had  to  watch  it  slide  gently  over  the 
edge.  We  never  heard  it  hit.  After  that 
we  tried  the  back  of  the  axe,  but  that  did 
not  work  any  better.  Finally,  we  made 
up  our  reluctant  minds  that  we  would 
have  to  use  the  edge — and  we  had  nothing 
but  a  file  with  which  to  sharpen  it  after- 
ward. So,  then,  we  chopped  out  a  way, 
probably  six  inches  in  width,  hard  and 
firm  enough,  and  wide  enough  provided 
181 

-v  /  SS 


no  one  got  panicky.  This  was  slow  work, 
and  evening  caught  us  just  as  we  con- 
nected with  the  zigzag  we  had  made  that 
morning  down  the  shale. 

Next  day  we  attacked  the  two  more 
difficult  problems  that  remained.  First, 
we  cut  a  log  ten  inches  through  and  about 
twelve  feet  long.  To  either  end  of  this 
we  attached  our  riatas.  The  tree  had 
grown  almost  at  the  head  of  the  shale  slide. 
We  rolled  and  dragged  and  checked  and 
snubbed  it  down  the  slide  until  we  came 
opposite  the  trail  we  had  made  along  the 
ledge.  This  was  no  mean  undertaking, 
for  the  weight  was  about  as  much  as  we 
could  possibly  handle  even  in  the  best  of 
circumstances,  and  the  circumstances  were 
far  from  the  best.  At  times  it  seemed 
that  that  log  would  get  away  in  spite  of 
us,  taking  our  riatas  with  it.  Then  by 
tremendous  efforts  we  would  succeed  in 
stopping  it  against  a  hidden  ledge  or  a 
182 


THE   LEDGE 

solid  boulder.  The  thing  seemed  instinct 
with  malicious  life.  When,  finally,  we 
would  get  it  bedded  down  against  some 
resting  place,  we  would  remove  our  hats 
and  wipe  the  sweat  from  our  brows  and 
look  about  us  with  a  certain  astonishment 
that  the  landscape  was  still  in  place.  We 
would  eye  that  log  a  little  malevolently, 
and  we  would  be  extremely  reluctant  to 
wake  the  resting  devil  into  further  move- 
ment. But  as  further  movement  was  nec- 
essary, we  always  had  to  do  it. 

And  when,  finally,  we  had  dragged  our 
huge  captive  to  the  notch  on  the  ledge, 
its  disposition  abruptly  changed.  It 
became  sullen.  We  had  to  urge  it  for- 
ward an  inch  or  so  at  a  time,  by  mighty 
heaves.  Its  front  end  gouged  down  into 
the  soil  as  though  trying  to  bury  itself; 
it  butted  against  rocks  and  corners;  it 
hung  back  like  a  reluctant  dog.  And 
whenever  it  thought  our  attention  was  dis- 
183 


THE   PASS 

tracted,  it  attempted  suddenly  to  roll  off 
sideways. 

We  soon  discovered  that  the  best 
method  was  to  apply  the  motive  power 
from  the  hinder  end  and  the  directing 
force  from  the  front  riata.  We  took 
turns,  change  about,  and  in  what  seemed 
to  me  at  the  moment  most  undue  course 
of  time,  we  arrived  at  our  break  in  the 
ledge.  The  passage  had  consumed  three 
hours.  We  were  pretty  tired,  for  in  addi- 
tion to  having  a  heavy  weight  to  drag,  the 
possibilities  of  applying  strength  on  such 
precarious  footing  were  necessarily  lim- 
ited. 

Here  we  rested.  Then  I  climbed  up 
the  face  of  the  mountain  twenty  feet  to 
where  the  cliff  jutted  out.  Around  the 
projection  I  threw  the  loop  of  one  of  the 
riatas. 

Then  I  crossed  above  the  break  to  the 
other  side  of  it.  Wes  tossed  me  the  end 
184 


THE   LEDGE 

of  the  second  riata.  When  I  had  it,  he 
shoved  the  log  off  the  ledge.  There  it 
hung  straight  down  the  granite,  depend- 
ent from  the  line  I  had  already  made  fast 
to  the  projection  above.  Next  I  took  in 
on  the  second  riata,  whereupon,  naturally, 
that  end  of  the  log  rose  to  my  own  level, 
and  the  gap  was  bridged. 

There  remained  now  to  assure  its  solid- 
ity. I  looped  a  great  round  boulder  on 
my  side.  Then  we  tested  every  inch  of 
hold  of  those  two  ropes,  lest  they  slide  or 
abrade.  Wes  crossed  first  over  the  new 
bridge,  and  so  we  went  on  to  our  second 
problem,  well  pleased  with  our  solution  of 
the  first. 

The  gully  we  decided  we  would  have  to 
fill.  A  certain  number  of  loose  boulders 
and  stones  lay  ready  to  our  hands,  but  the 
supply  of  these  was  soon  used  up.  We 
then  had  to  carry  our  materials  from 
greater  or  lesser  distances  as  we  could 
185 


THE   PASS 

find  them.  This  was  plain  hard  work,  at 
which  we  sweated  and  toiled  until  we  had 
moved  a  few  tons  of  granite.  Then  we 
chinked  our  stone  bridge  with  smaller 
splinters  until  we  considered  it  safe. 

On  the  way  home  we  paused  at  the  log 
to  throw  sods  in  the  crack  between  it  and 
the  granite  apron.  This  was  not  for 
greater  solidity,  but  merely  to  reassure 
our  horses  somewhat  by  making  it  look 
more  like  a  trail. 

We  arrived  in  camp  after  sundown 
dead  weary,  but  rejoiced  to  find  that  Billy 
had  cooked  us  a  good  supper.  The  even- 
ing was  a  short  one,  and  almost  before 
the  frozen  monster  had  blended  with  the 
night,  we  crawled  between  the  blankets. 

Sun-up  found  Wes  and  me  scrambling 
a  thousand  feet  above  camp,  shortwinded, 
breakfastless  and  disgruntled.  Of  course, 
the  horses  had  strayed — they  always  do 
when  you  have  a  particularly  hard  day  be- 
186 


THE    LEDGE 

fore  you.  Also  they  invariably  stray  up- 
hill. I  remember  once  climbing  four  thou- 
sand feet  after  Dinkey.  She  was  plodding 
calmly  through  granite  shale,  and  had 
passed  by  good  feed  to  get  there.  Why, 
I  do  not  know.  However,  in  this  case  we 
could  not  much  blame  them  for  seeking 
feed  where  they  could,  only  it  did  seem  a 
little  unnecessary  that  they  should  be  at 
the  upper  edge  of  that  patch  of  lupins. 

So  we  took  a  parting  look  at  the  snow 
and  granite  where  rose  the  Kaweah,  and 
the  frowning  black  steeps  of  the  Kaweah 
Group  opposite,  and  the  frozen  monster 
sprawled  in  his  age-long  sleep.  First,  we 
rode  to  the  shale  slide.  Then  we  led  to 
the  beginning  of  the  ledge.  Then  we  tied 
up,  and  began  the  rather  arduous  task  of 
leading  our  animals  along  it  one  by  one. 

Of  course,  Bullet  had  the  honor  of 
precedence.  The  mere  ledge  was  easy  to 
him,  for  the  footing  was  good  enough, 
187 


THE   PASS 

though  limited  in  quantity.  A  misstep 
would  have  tragic  consequences,  but  there 
existed  no  real  excuse  for  a  mountain 
pony's  misstepping.  At  the  log  he  hesi- 
tated a  little;  but  as  I  walked  boldly 
out  on  it,  he  concluded  it  must  be  all 
right,  and  so  followed  gingerly.  After 
a  time  we  reached  the  rounded  knoll, 
where  trouble  ended.  I  tied  him  to  a  bush 
and  went  back  for  another  animal.  By 
ten  o'clock  everybody,  including  Billy, 
had  crossed  in  safety.  We  resumed  the 
saddle,  and  turned  sharp  to  the  left  for 
what  now  amounted  to  a  thousand-foot 
descent. 

It  was  steep,  and  loose.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  that  the  horses  were  going  to 
stand  on  their  heads.  Often  they  slid  for 
twenty  feet,  unable  to  do  anything  but 
keep  their  balance,  a  merry,  bouncing  lit- 
tle avalanche  preceding  them,  their  hoofs 
sinking  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  shale, 
188 


THE   LEDGE 

until  at  last  the  very  accumulation  would 
bring  them  up.  Then  they  would  take 
another  step.  None  but  horses  raised  to 
the  business  could  have  done  it.  They 
straddled  thin  ledges,  stepped  tentatively, 
kept  their  wits  about  them.  After  a  long 
time  we  found  ourselves  among  big, 
rugged  cliff  debris.  We  looked  up  to 
discover  what  in  the  absorption  of  the  de- 
scent we  had  not  realized — that  we  had 
reached  the  bottom. 

With  one  accord  we  turned  in  our  sad- 
dles. The  ledge  showed  as  a  slender  fila- 
ment of  green  threading  the  gray  of  the 
mountain. 

With  some  pains  we  made  way  through 
the  fringe  of  jagged  rock,  and  so  came  to 
the  meadow.  It  was  nearly  circular  in 
shape,  comprised  perhaps  two  hundred 
acres,  and  lay  in  a  cup  of  granite.  The 
cup  was  lipped  at  the  lower  end,  but  even 
there  the  rock  rose  considerably  above  the 
189 


THE   PASS 

level  of  the  grasses.  We  were  surprised 
to  note  that  the  round  lake,  which  from 
above  seemed  directly  adjacent  to  the 
meadow,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Evi- 
dently it  lay  beyond  the  low  stone  rim 
down  the  canon. 

We  rode  out  through  the  rich  grasses, 
belly  high  to  the  horses.  No  animal 
grazed  there,  except  the  deer.  The 
stream  divided  below  the  plunge  from 
above  to  meander  in  a  dozen  sod-banked 
creeks  here  and  there  through  the  mead- 
ow, only  to  reunite  where  the  lip  of  the 
cup  was  riven. 

We  rode  to  the  top  of  the  rock  rim. 
The  lake  was  indeed  just  beyond,  but  at 
least  five  hundred  feet  lower.  We  looked 
over  a  sheer  precipice,  which,  nevertheless, 
had  remained  quite  invisible  from  our  side 
hill  camp.  This  was  serious.  We  hitched 
the  horses  in  some  lodgepole  pines,  and 
separated  to  explore. 
190 


THE   LEDGE 

I  found  that  the  precipice  continued  to 
the  very  hind  foot  of  the  frozen  monster. 
At  one  point  a  deep  gorge  opened  passage 
to  the  river.  A  smoke  of  mist  ascended 
from  it  dense  as  steam;  the  black  rocks 
dripped;  jagged  monsters  appeared  and 
disappeared  beyond  the  veil.  Obviously 
nothing  but  a  parachute  would  avail  here. 

Wes  reported  a  steep  side  mountain, 
covered  with  brush,  loose  stones  and  rock 
slides,  around  which  it  might  be  possible 
to  scramble.  We  proceeded  to  do  so. 
The  journey  was  rough.  To  our  right 
and  above  stood  monoliths  of  stone,  sharp 
and  hard  against  the  very  blue  sky  of  the 
high  altitudes.  They  watched  us  stum- 
bling and  jumping  and  falling  at  their 
feet.  After  a  great  deal  of  work  and  a 
very  long  time  we  skirted  that  lake — five 
hundred  feet  above  it — and  found  where 
the  precipice  had  relented,  and  so  made 
our  way  down  to  its  level. 
191 


THE   PASS 

Twice  more  we  accomplished  these  long 
jumps  from  one  terraced  meadow  to  an- 
other. The  sheer  cliff  walls  rose  higher 
and  higher  above  us,  shutting  out  the 
mountain  peaks.  By  three  o'clock  it  had 
become  late  afternoon.  The  horses  were 
tired;  so  were  we.  We  should  have 
camped,  but  the  strong  desire  to  see  the 
thing  through  grew  on  us.  We  were  now 
in  the  bottom,  where  grew  alders  and  wil- 
lows and  cottonwoods.  Occasionally  we 
came  across  the  tracks  of  the  wild  cattle 
of  the  mountains. 

And  then  the  river  dropped  again  over 
a  fall;  and  we  had  to  climb  and  climb  and 
climb  again  until  we  had  regained  the 
sunlight.  A  broad,  sloping  ridge,  grown 
thick  with  quaking  asp,  offered  itself. 
We  rode  along  it,  dodging  branches, 
blinded  by  leaves,  unable  to  see  underfoot. 
Abruptly  we  burst  from  them  into  a  deep 

v    J  r. 

pine  woods,  soft  and  still. 

193 


THE  LEDGE 

I  was  riding  ahead.  The  woods 
stretched  before  me  as  far  as  I  could  see. 
I  eased  myself  in  my  saddle.  Somewhere 
ahead  the  route  from  the  Giant  Forest  to 
Mineral  King  ran  at  right  angles.  Some 
time  we  would  cross  it. 

And  then,  without  warning,  there  ap- 
peared, almost  under  my  horse's  hoofs,  a 
deep,  dusty  brown  furrow.  I  reined  in, 
staring.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that  the 
thing  should  have  happened  so  quietly. 
Subconsciously  I  must  have  anticipated 
some  pomp  and  blare  of  trumpets  to  her- 
ald so  important  an  event.  The  appear- 
ance of  this  dusty  brown  furrow,  winding 
down  through  the  trees,  represented  so 
much  labor  of  mind  and  body,  so  much 
uncertainty,  so  many  discomforts,  so 
many  doubts  and  fears  and  hopes!  And 
now  it  came  into  view  as  simply  as  a  snow 
plant  or  a  fallen  pine  cone.  All  we  had 
to  do  was  to  turn  to  the  left.  By  that  act 
11 


THE    PASS 

we  stepped  from  the  great  shining  land  of 
adventure  and  high  emprise  to  the  every- 
day life  of  the  many  other  travelers  who 
had  worn  deep  the  furrow.  For  this  was 
the  Trail. 


194 


APPENDIX 

On  re-reading  the  chapters  of  THE  PASS  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  some  might  imagine  that  we 
consider  the  opening  of  Elizabeth  Pass  an  extraor- 
dinary feat.  This  is  not  true.  Anybody  could 
have  done  it.  I  have  attempted  merely  to  show 
how  such  things  are  undertaken,  and  to  tell  of  the 
joys  and  petty 'but  real  difficulties  to  be  met  with  on 
such  an  expedition.  I  hope  the  reader  will  take 
this  account  in  that  spirit. 


195 


FIELD  NOTES 

Regular  trail  into  Roaring  River. 

Ascend  west  fork  of  river;  proceed  by  monu- 
mented  and  blazed  miner's  trail  to  cirque  at  end  of 
caflon. 

When  a  short  distance  below  the  large  falls,  at  a 
brown,  smooth  rock  in  creek  bed,  turn  sharp  to  left- 
hand  trail. 

Climb  mountain  by  miner's  trail  to  old  mine  camp. 

If  snow  is  heavy  above  this  point,  work  a  way 
to  large  monument  in  gap.  The  east  edge  of  snow 
is  best. 

From  gap  follow  monuments  down  first  lateral  red 
ridge  to  east.  This  ridge  ends  in  a  granite  knob. 
The  monuments  lead  at  first  on  the  west  slope  of 
the  ridge,  then  down  the  backbone  to  within  about 
two  or  three  hundred  yards  of  the  granite  knob. 
Turn  down  east  slope  of  ridge  to  the  watercourse. 
Follow  west  side  of  watercourse  to  a  good  crossing, 
then  down  shale  to  grove  of  lodgepole  pines.  Cross 
west  through  trees  to  blaze  in  second  grove  to  west- 
ward above  lake.  Follow  monuments  to  slide  rock 
on  ledge.  Best  way  across  is  to  lash  a  log,  as  we  did. 
Follow  monuments  to  knoll  west  of  first  watercourse. 
Turn  sharp  to  left  down  lateral  ridge  for  about  one 
197 


FIELD    NOTES 

hundred  feet.     Cross  arroyo  to  west,  and  work  down 
shale  to  round  meadow. 

From  meadow  proceed  through  clump  of  lodge- 
pole  pines  to  northwest.  Keep  well  up  on  side  hill, 
close  under  cliffs.  Cross  the  rock  apron  in  little 
cafion  above  second  meadow.  Work  down  shale 
ridge  to  west  side  of  the  jump  off"  below  second 
meadow.  At  foot  of  jump  off  pass  small  round 
pond-hole.  Strike  directly  toward  stream,  and 
follow  monumented  trail. 


198 


Scale:  y4Fnch  to  the  mil* 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


A     000  986  632     8 


